Conventioneers
by tgrfan23
Summary: The team is working a case in Las Vegas, and Lisbon decides it's as good a time as any to leave Rigsby and Van Pelt alone to work out their "issues". Chapter 15: The team is reunited in Sacramento. NOW COMPLETE! Thanks to all who read and reviewed.
1. Meet the Browns

A/N: Here it is, my long-awaited (well, by me at least) foray into multi-chapter fic. This baby has been percolating for quite some time and is finally almost finished, just in time for season 2 to start airing and throw the whole thing out the window. :) This story falls into my previously established AU timeline from _His Girls_ and _Her Diamonds_, and will reference events that occurred in both of my episode tags, _Aftermath_ and _After Hours_. Don't worry, though - if you haven't read any of those stories, you won't be in the least bit lost. This falls within the show's timeline sometime after _Russet Potatoes_ but before _Blood Brothers_.

While inspired by, and titled after, the Barenaked Ladies song _Conventioneers_, this is not strictly a songfic. All characters from the show and places you recognize belong to their respective owners; I'm just having a little fun.

Onward!

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_MGM Grand Hotel & Casino_

_Las Vegas, NV_

_Wednesday, 2PM_

"Hello? Earth to Charlie!" The tall redhead waved her hands in front of her companion's face, trying to get his attention and snap him out of his reverie.

"Sorry honey," he said with a sheepish grin, "I guess I zoned out a little there."

His wife barely stifled a chuckle. "Zoned out? You were practically on another planet. You're bored, aren't you?"

"Nahhhh. Well, maybe just a little. I am definitely hungry, though."

Lucy Brown didn't even attempt to hold in her laughter at that comment. "You're always hungry. But we have been here all morning and we pretty much skipped lunch, so give me five more minutes and then our afternoon is all yours, okay?" She punctuated this request with the sweetest smile she could muster, that hid just a hint of mischievousness.

Her husband, Charlie, raised a skeptical eyebrow. "All afternoon? Promise?" Lucy leaned in close and whispered in his left ear, just loudly enough for their audience to hear, "All afternoon. I promise." Leaning backward, so as not to completely cut the vendor she'd been talking to out of the conversation, she continued. "I'll meet you in the lobby and we'll plan our next move." She made a little shooing motion as she turned back to finish her conversation, to indicate that their discussion was over.

Wayne Rigsby maneuvered his way around hundreds of booths of vendors selling every kind of antique imaginable, crossing the convention floor in the Marquee Ballroom at the MGM Grand in Las Vegas at a fairly quick pace. Normally, an undercover operation in Vegas would have been his idea of a fun week's work, but this had been no ordinary operation, as he and Van Pelt had been posing since they'd arrived in town on Sunday as a young married couple on a delayed honeymoon. No sooner was he out of the convention hall, freed from the noise of wheelers and dealers, than he found himself dodging gamblers and waitstaff on the casino floor, assaulted by visuals and sounds of an entirely different color. He found an oversized chair in the main lobby and sank into it, grateful to be off his feet for the first time all day.

Rigsby's cell phone vibrated, and he pressed the button on his Bluetooth headset to answer the call. "Careful Rigsby, you and Van Pelt are getting so good at this undercover thing, you might actually convince some people that you're really married." Kimball Cho's deadpan humor coming through the headset would ordinarily be just the thing to break up the stress of this mission, but Rigsby was tired and in no mood to play along.

"Shut it, Cho. Wasn't Vegas PD supposed to have executed the warrant already?"

"LVPD sent plainclothes officers downstairs about ten minutes ago. Hotel management wanted them to get this done as discreetly as possible, since the convention is going on until Friday. Didn't want too many vendors catching wind of what happened and bailing out early." Their boss, Teresa Lisbon, took over, as Rigsby realized his colleagues were on speakerphone. "Rigsby, round up Van Pelt and come on back upstairs. LVPD has taken the suspects into custody so we need to wrap things up."

"You got it, boss. I see her leaving the convention hall; we'll be upstairs in ten." Rigsby tapped the power button on the headset, shutting it and his phone off at the same time and pulled the device out of his ear. He saw Van Pelt scanning the crowd in the lobby; she found him pretty easily, strode over to his chair and promptly sat in his lap, leaning in closely so they could have a quiet conversation.

"Did you talk to Lisbon? What's our next step?" She was leaning in so closely he could smell the lotion she'd put on this morning; her voice in his ear was driving him nuts, so he leaned back into the chair a bit, hoping to put a little distance between them.

"LVPD has taken over, so we're done for the time being. You're having way too much fun with this cover story, by the way."

Van Pelt noticed the change in his body language and backed off a little; she knew she might have pushed a little too far, but their cover story had been her idea and she didn't want to drop the charade until she was certain it was no longer necessary. She climbed out of the chair, grabbing Rigsby's hand and dragging him to his feet. "C'mon, let's get you back to the room. I'm sure you weren't kidding when you said you were hungry." He gave her what Van Pelt had dubbed the "charm smile" - a lopsided half-grin that made his hazel eyes twinkle just a touch - and she tugged him through the maze of corridors that led to their section of the hotel's immense property.


	2. Stuck With You

Rigsby slid the key card into the door of the suite the CBI team had been occupying since Sunday; the lock clicked and when the door opened, he could see Kimball Cho and Patrick Jane sitting at the dining table, scarfing down sandwiches while Jane was trying to teach Cho the finer points of counting cards. Cho wore a look of utmost concentration; Jane's expression was one of quiet bemusement, indicating that the session was not going well.

"You guys saved sandwiches for us, didn't you?" Hunger always made Rigsby slightly grumpy.

Van Pelt walked towards the suite's mini-fridge and surveyed the contents. "Which one do you want, Rigsby – turkey club on sourdough, or the BLT on wheat?"

"Turkey club, please." No sooner had he made the request, then the sandwich came flying across the room, followed by a cold bottle of water and a bag of his favorite jalapeno potato chips. He sank down into the couch in the living area, cracked open the bottle of water and settled in to eat lunch. Van Pelt flopped down next to him, holding the BLT, another bottle of water, and a container of pasta salad. She offered Rigsby a fork. "There's lots of pasta salad left over from yesterday, want some?" He accepted the fork and they alternated taking bites out of the pasta salad container, eating their lunch in companionable silence.

Teresa Lisbon strode in from the adjoining room, flipping her cell phone closed and indicating that she needed her team's attention. "I just got off the phone with Vegas PD. They have Underwood and Cook in custody; apparently they have multiple units at a storage facility just east of the airport, which is where we believe most of their stolen goods are located. Locals are headed over there now to inspect and catalog the contents. Anything in there that came from the California thefts is going to have to be tagged and sent back to headquarters. Rigsby, Van Pelt, you two are going to have to stay through the weekend and work with them to get everything shipped back to Sacramento." Lisbon shot both of her agents her best "don't argue with me" look when she heard their matching sighs. "If you're lucky, this will all go very quickly and you'll either have the option of coming home early, or staying until Sunday. The suite is paid for through the weekend; your choice. In the meantime, Jane, Cho and I will start packing up here. I have to inform the DA in San Francisco of our progress and get the extradition paperwork started to bring those two back to California." She tossed Rigsby the keys to the team's rented SUV. "The storage facility is at 3869 East Sunset – locals are already there waiting for you. And Rigsby, whatever you do, don't let the GPS tell you to take the Strip, it's a parking lot this time of day. Take Eastern Avenue instead. You'll get there faster."

"You got it, boss." The two agents stood, tossed the remainder of their lunches in the trash can, and headed back out the door.

Jane looked up at Lisbon from his spot at the table, an appreciative smirk on his face. "You did that on purpose. You know damn good and well that Vegas PD neither needs, nor will they appreciate, us looking over their shoulders while processing the stolen goods."

Lisbon's reaction was noncommittal. "I have no idea what you're talking about. It's CBI protocol to have agents liaise with local law enforcement on multi-jurisdictional cases."

Jane nodded knowingly. "You are completely full of it. I don't know what exactly you hope to accomplish by stranding those two in this town until Sunday, but I wholeheartedly approve of the gesture."

Lisbon sighed, a concerned look on her face as she pulled up a chair to the small table and confided in her team's consultant. "Something has been off between them ever since the Mary Beth Hendricks case."

"You mean since Rigsby had to be hypnotized to discover the backbone to actually do something about that crush he's been harboring on Van Pelt since she started working with us? And the fact that Van Pelt's pissed because he claims not to remember having kissed her, even though she really wants him to remember?" Cho piped up.

"If I had to guess, I'd bet that ship has already sailed. Either they had a conversation about it, or Rigsby remembered the whole incident on his own. Smart money should be on them having had the conversation." Jane stated, quite confidently.

"How do you figure?" Cho inquired.

"This 'off' behavior we've all noticed – it's anticipatory. Looks that linger just a second or two too long; uncharacteristic invasions of personal space alternating with purposeful avoidance of each other. There's an unspoken 'something' out there. Neither of them really knows how or when it's going to happen, but until it does, this is what we're stuck with. And sending them undercover as a married couple probably isn't helping matters."

Lisbon sighed exasperatedly. "Conversation or no, I'm hoping that leaving the two of them here for a few days will force them to work out whatever residual awkwardness there might be between them, and we can all go back to normal on Monday. If not, I may be forced to take more drastic action, and I like the team the way it is, thank you very much."

Jane pondered Lisbon's argument thoughtfully. "Cataloging all the evidence and getting it shipped back to Sacramento will take what, another day, maybe?"

"Depends on how many of the items in storage belong to our cases and how quickly Vegas PD wants us out of their hair. But yes, I'd expect them to be done by tomorrow night at the latest. That would give them a long weekend, at least."

A faraway look overtook Jane's face as in idea took shape in his head. _Could work_, he thought. _Could backfire spectacularly, too, but if it backfires, one or the both of them will probably quit, and at least Lisbon won't have to discipline or fire them._ "What those two need is a vacation. Van Pelt's so uptight she wouldn't know fun if it jumped up and bit her; I bet Rigsby's had a wild weekend or two in this town. He's the perfect choice to show her a good time. With some help from me, of course." He winked at Lisbon, nodded to Cho and walked into the adjoining bedroom to call the concierge desk.

Lisbon and Cho exchanged worried glances. "I'm tempted to ask him what he's got up his sleeve, but I think we're all better off not knowing."

"Plausible deniability, boss?"

"Exactly. Can you please start packing up the surveillance equipment and the computers? I'm going to call Southwest and see if we can get on one of the late flights home tonight. If not, we're out of here first thing tomorrow morning anyway."

"On it, boss."


	3. Partners in Crime

A/N: Chapter three .... little bit of casework for Rigsby and Van Pelt for ya, and Grace reveals a heretofore unknown (read: I made it up) hobby. Don't worry, we're not gonna get too bogged down in the case itself.

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Rigsby and Van Pelt drove the 20 minutes to the storage facility in relative silence, broken up only by the occasional instruction from the in-dash GPS system. Once they arrived, Rigsby parked next to the LVPD evidence van. The agents were approached by an officer in his mid-thirties; his twitchy demeanor didn't subside in the slightest when they flashed their CBI ID's.

"You must be agents Rigsby and Van Pelt." They nodded in the affirmative, as he reached out to shake their hands. "Warren Hodges. I'm heading up the team processing all the stolen items in this case. We told your boss that you didn't need to stay, that we'd handle cross-checking the databases and getting the appropriate items shipped back to California, but - " he checked a message on his Blackberry " -agent Lisbon, was it?" They nodded. "Agent Lisbon was quite insistent that having you two here would make the process go faster, and since you were able to come down and help us corral the suspects, we're happy to have you pitch in."

His officious manner irritated Rigsby to no end. "Gee, thanks," he replied sarcastically. "Can you show us the storage units, please?"

"Sure, this way." They headed towards the back of the facility, close to the rear exit. "Underwood and Cook had this set up very carefully. They rented three storage units, all under different names, all next to each other, all in the back of the facility, closest to the rear exit, and all as far away as possible from the security cameras, minimizing the likelihood that they would be caught moving the merchandise into the units and tipping us off that they were handling stolen goods. As a matter of fact, two of the units are in the cameras' blind spots. Of those two units, one is empty; we think it was a decoy. The other contains the stolen items."

Van Pelt interrupted, a little confused. "Wait, you said they had three units – what's in the third one?"

"Take a look for yourself. It's the one on the left."

Rigsby and Van Pelt rounded the corner and discovered the storage unit in question was open, with several officers milling about gawking at the two classic cars contained within.

Rigsby let out a low, sharp whistle. "Jane is going to be pissed when he hears about this!" He immediately took out his cell phone camera to snap pictures of the red, 1970s era Citroen convertible sitting in the storage unit. The car's finish was flawless, its black leather interior lovingly restored; this was a car that had received a considerable amount of TLC from its owner.

Van Pelt admired the Citroen briefly; she appreciated its similarities to Jane's unusual choice of vehicle, but the style wasn't her cup of tea. The car sitting next to it was what really caught her eye.

"Is that a '66 Shelby GT?!"

Rigsby and Hodges both snapped to attention at Van Pelt's outburst. She walked over to the car and peered through the driver's side window. Hodges approached her, double-checking some information on the Blackberry. "It's a GT350H, actually. Specially built by Shelby for the rental market and incredibly rare. Only a thousand of them were produced in that model year. This is one of 50 green models produced, which makes it even more unique."

Van Pelt continued to circle the car, tracing the gold racing stripes that divided the hood. A bemused comment from Rigsby broke into her reverie. "Van Pelt, I never would have guessed that you were a car aficionado."

"My dad's hobby is restoring classic cars. He always joked that if he ever got out of coaching, he'd open a garage that specialized only in antiques. If he were here, he'd be drooling."

Van Pelt stepped away from the cars and snapped immediately back to business mode. "Officer Hodges, you said that the contents of this unit are not stolen goods, is that correct?"

"Yes ma'am. We found the title and registration paperwork for both cars inside their respective glove boxes. As best we are able to tell, both of these vehicles were legally purchased at auction by Ms. Cook's family's company, and the titles transferred directly to Ms. Cook upon registration. We can't touch either one; they'll end up staying here until Cook and Underwood post bond. Which they will – Cook family disputes notwithstanding, she's still got plenty of her own money and her lawyer is already on his way from San Francisco."

"Big surprise there," Rigsby stated with a hint of exasperation in his voice. "How long before your team will have everything processed?"

Hodges glanced down at the Blackberry one more time. "We have two four-person crews working on this case. The larger items – furniture, paintings and the like – are already done. It's the smaller things, such as jewelry, silver, and collectibles, that will take longer. However, this group is pretty efficient, and if I know them, they'll work straight through just to get it all done. Should be ready sometime tomorrow morning."

Van Pelt reached into her bag and retrieved her business cards, handing one over to Hodges. "Once your team is done, could you please have someone e-mail me? We have a program that can cross-reference your list with ours; that should make it much easier to get everything separated and sent to the proper place."

Hodges accepted the card and started entering her data into the Blackberry. "Sure thing, Agent Van Pelt."

Rigsby's cell phone had started ringing in the middle of their conversation, and Van Pelt realized that he was talking to Cho.

"... What time is it now?" Rigsby glanced down at his watch. "Okay. Yeah, we're just wrapping up here; we can't do anything more until Vegas PD is done going through the storage units. We'll be back in a half-hour; meet you down at the front drive." Rigsby shut off the phone and turned back to Van Pelt. "That was Cho. Lisbon managed to get them all on the 8 o'clock flight back to Sacramento; we have to head back to the hotel to pick them up and take them to the airport."

"Why do we have to take them back to the airport?"

"It's the only way Lisbon would agree to let us keep the rental for the rest of the week."

"Fair enough, I suppose. Officer Hodges, nice to meet you." The three exchanged handshakes and goodbyes. "Let's head back to the hotel."


	4. On Their Own

Rigsby pulled up to the circle drive in front of the MGM Grand exactly thirty minutes later. Jane, Cho and Lisbon were waiting next to the valet stand; Jane was engaged in a deep conversation with the concierge at the podium, a young man named David. Rigsby popped the tailgate and hopped out from the driver's side to help his colleagues load up their luggage. He did not like the very mischievous look on Jane's face as he wrapped up his conversation, and liked the sight of Jane slipping the concierge a $50 bill even less. _He is definitely up to something. I don't know what it is, but I have a feeling I'm not gonna like it. _Jane turned to head towards the car, saw Rigsby watching, and gave him a jaunty wave as he approached. Once all five members of the team were settled in, Rigsby pulled out of the drive.

It was a short and uneventful ride to the airport. Lisbon spent the entire time on her cell phone, updating Minelli on their progress. Cho had cracked open a book – he was working on _Crime and Punishment _at the moment – and Jane seemed perfectly content to stare out the windows silently and observe the tourists and businesspeople. Rigsby could have sworn that Van Pelt had fallen asleep in the passenger-side front seat, as she startled a little when he pulled into a free space in front of the skycap counter at Terminal One.

"We're here boss, door-to-door service." Lisbon and Jane climbed out on the passenger side; Cho came around to the back from the driver's side. All three started tugging their luggage out of the SUV's rear compartment.

"Rigsby, we left Van Pelt's laptop back at the hotel, please make sure it gets back in one piece. You have the all the info you need to get everything shipped back to Sacramento, correct?" Rigsby nodded. "All right then, you two are on your own for the rest of the week. Call me once all the items are in transit, and let us know if you need anything." Lisbon did one last visual sweep of the car, to make sure they hadn't left any important items behind before heading into the airport.

Cho had already walked over to the skycap counter and was busy checking in. Lisbon stepped into line behind him, while Jane held back for a moment, leaning into Van Pelt's now-open window.

"Don't forget, the suite at the hotel is still registered to Charlie and Lucy Brown," he reminded with a very self-satisfied smirk. "Have fun, you two. Don't do anything I wouldn't do."

"That leaves our options pretty much wide open, doesn't it?" Van Pelt replied sarcastically.

"Exactly." Jane winked and turned to check in his bags. "See you Monday."

"Well, that was certainly cryptic."

"I saw Jane conspiring with one of the concierges at the hotel. He was definitely up to no good." Rigsby commented as they pulled back into traffic.

"Well, we can worry about whatever Jane has up his sleeve after we're done with this case. I'm starving, though – can we pick up something to eat on the way back to the hotel?" Almost as if on cue, her stomach started growling very loudly, and they both started to laugh. Rigsby gave her a very incredulous look, and she replied in mock offense, "What? We barely had time to eat lunch this afternoon!"

Rigsby grinned. "Okay, whatever you say, Miss Bottomless Pit. What would you like to eat? My treat."

Van Pelt's reply was so soft as to be almost inaudible. "In-N-Out."

Rigsby was confused, not sure he'd actually heard her correctly. "I'm sorry, did you say In-N-Out?"

She smiled sheepishly and stared at her feet. In-N-Out was one of the few fast food places she not only tolerated eating at, but actually liked. _Busted. _"Yes, In-N-Out. But don't tell Cho, or my reputation is ruined."

"Your secret is safe with me. And it just so happens that there's one over by UNLV's campus." He punched the address into the GPS' navigation screen and the system immediately started spitting out directions. They pulled up to the drive-thru about 15 minutes later. Rigsby turned and looked at Van Pelt expectantly, waiting for her order.

"Cheeseburger, no onions, small fries and a medium Diet Coke, please."

Rigsby turned back to the speaker, repeated her order, and added a Double-Double, no onions, medium fry and a chocolate shake for himself. Five minutes later, the food was ready; he handed over the bag with the burgers and fries to Van Pelt while he settled their drinks in the cupholder. When they arrived back at the hotel, Rigsby tossed the keys to the valet and they headed back up to the suite. Rigsby noticed the concierge from earlier, David, looking at them very intently.

"Grace, is it me, or is the concierge over there staring at us?" he questioned, motioning with his head in the young man's direction.

"He's definitely staring at us, but he's probably confused as to why all of a sudden we're not being all lovey-dovey. He's the one who checked us in, and he thinks we're married, remember?"

"Ah, you're probably right about that." Rigsby gently pried the bag of food out of Van Pelt's hands and wrapped his left arm around her waist, kissing her on the top of her head. "Is that better?" he whispered in her ear.

She turned to look over her right shoulder, saw that David had a big smile on his face and had turned to assist other guests. "Yes, I think it did the trick."

As they entered the now significantly less-crowded suite, Van Pelt grabbed the bag back from Rigsby and started tipping its contents onto the dining table, while firing up her laptop. Rigsby snatched his Double-Double and fries off the table, sunk into the couch and settled in to watch Sportscenter.

The computer beeped, indicating that Van Pelt had new email, and she whistled as she tapped away at the keyboard.

"What's so impressive?" Rigsby craned his neck to try to see what was on the screen, but her computer was facing away from him.

"Hodges wasn't kidding when he said his team was efficient. They've already got half the contents of the storage units processed and cataloged. I'm going to run their spreadsheet against our database so we can get a head start on getting all this stuff shipped out to Sacramento tomorrow."

"Sounds like a good plan." Rigsby sipped the last of his shake and tossed the cup into a nearby trash can, then shifted on the couch so he could address Van Pelt directly. "Grace, have you given any thought to what Lisbon said? About staying the weekend if we get everything done quickly, I mean?" Rigsby rested his chin on the back of the couch and put on his best puppy dog look; she could tell that he really wanted to take the time off and stay in town, and that he was hoping she'd capitulate and agree keep him company.

She scooted her chair back a little from the table and pondered her response for a second. "I don't know – Vegas doesn't really seem like my kind of place. I don't particularly like gambling, I can't afford any of the shops and even if we wanted to see one of the shows, wouldn't it be difficult to get tickets at the last minute?" She knew her litany of complaints was a bunch of lame excuses, but she really wasn't sure they could handle a weekend on their own together, much less in a city like Vegas, where the temptations were plentiful.

Rigsby sighed, aware that Van Pelt was going to be a tougher sell than he'd anticipated. He decided to let the discussion go for the time being; they still had work to do, so it was a moot point for now.

Van Pelt peered over the top of her laptop's screen, noticing the disappointed look on Rigsby's face that he was desperately trying to hide. "Let's just get through everything we have to do tomorrow, and we can talk again later, okay?" She shut down and closed the computer without waiting for a response. "We have a long day ahead of us, I think I'm just going to go ahead and go to bed." She turned and headed towards the bedroom she'd previously shared with Lisbon. She paused briefly at the door and turned to steal at glance at Rigsby.

"Good night, Wayne."

"Good night, Grace," he replied as she quietly closed the door.

On the other side of the bedroom door, Van Pelt slowly and methodically went about her nightly routine – changing in to her yoga clothes so she would be ready for the health club's early-morning class; packing her stuff into her laundry bag; washing her face and brushing her teeth. Routine complete, she collapsed onto the bed, setting the alarm for 6AM. At the rate things were going, she suspected their work would be done by the next afternoon, and she'd be out of time to come up with her best excuse not to take advantage of their boss' offer to stay the weekend. As she closed her eyes and willed herself to sleep, her subconscious started making its argument. _It's just a weekend, what could it hurt? You could use a vacation. Besides, it's __**Vegas**__, not __**Paris**__; what are you expecting to have happen, exactly? Get drunk and get married at one of the drive-thru chapels? _

Rigsby sat on the couch staring at the closed door for a full five minutes, before deciding that pining silently wasn't going to get him anywhere, and heading to bed himself. As he paced through his routine, his mind started formulating the case in favor of staying the weekend: _Vegas isn't all showgirls and casinos and gambling; there's lots of great restaurants and museums, there's good shopping. Or we could just hang out, sit by the pool all weekend, that's nice too. We don't even have to spend all our time together. It's going to be fine. _

Neither CBI agent slept very well that night.


	5. Working Hard, or Hardly Working?

A/N: I have some good news, and I have some less-good news, dear readers. The good news is that we're one chapter away from revealing Jane's grand plan. The bad news is that I am going to be out of town starting Thursday afternoon (it's a holiday weekend here in the States) so this story is going to go on a short hiatus while I'm gone. On the flip side, I am taking my laptop with me, and I'll be in a car a lot of the time, so I might very well be able to finish this story up while I'm gone. In the meantime, enjoy.

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Rigsby's alarm went off promptly at 7AM; he rolled sleepily out of the very comfortable bed, stretched, and reached for his running shoes and iPod. Cho had been giving him a very hard time lately about running out of breath while chasing down suspects, so he'd decided to get back into the habit of running every morning. The track at the hotel's health club also made for good people-watching. He crept out of the suite quietly, on the off chance that Van Pelt was still asleep, completely missing the note she'd left for him on the table in the entryway.

_One hour later_

Rigsby returned to the suite feeling a little more awake, and in desperate need of a shower. Opening the door carefully, in the very unlikely event that Van Pelt was still asleep, he was surprised to see her sitting at the dining table, hair pulled back into a ponytail, staring at her laptop's screen. A bag of what he assumed to be breakfast foods sat next to her and she was nursing a cup of coffee.

She looked up from her work as she heard the door open. "Hey, Rigsby. You just go for a run or something?"

"Yeah, just got back from the health club. How long have you been up?"

"I went to the early yoga class, then swung by the coffee shop to pick up breakfast. You were still asleep when I left. I made a pot of coffee, and there's a chocolate croissant with your name on it in the bag."

"Perfect." She smiled at his pleasure that she'd remembered his favorite pastry. "What's on the agenda for today? Any word from Vegas PD or the boss?"

"Both, actually. Lisbon has apparently been in the office for at least an hour. I got an email from her informing us that she's arranged for a moving van to come pick up all the items we have to send back to Sacramento; apparently she doesn't trust FedEx to get everything sent back in one piece." Rigsby chuckled; their boss had a bit of a reputation for control-freak tendencies. "Hodges' team finished up the cataloging late last night; two of them are going to meet us at the storage facility to help pack everything up. I'm running the list now, should be done in a few minutes."

Rigsby popped the last bite of croissant in his mouth and took a quick look at his watch. "Okay, it's 8:15. I'll jump in the shower, we should be able to get over there by 9, yeah?"

"That should work. The moving company truck is supposed to arrive at 9:30, so that will give us a little bit of a head start."

"Give me 20 minutes and I'll be ready to go."

True to his word, 20 minutes later, Rigsby reappeared, freshly showered and towel-drying his hair. He disappeared into his bathroom, hanging the towel over the shower curtain rod and grabbing his watch and his grandfather's wedding band, which he was using as his fake wedding band for the week. Normally he wore it on his right hand, but he slipped it on his left ring finger without batting an eyelash.

Van Pelt shut her laptop closed as he approached the table, slipping the computer into its case and grabbing the last half of her bagel for the road. "Got the keys?" He jangled them in his hand as a response. "Okay, let's go. By the way, there's one more pastry left for you in the bag," she added as she also handed over a to-go cup of coffee.

"Yeah? What else did you bring me?"

"See for yourself."

Rigsby shifted the coffee cup to his left hand - a quick sip revealed she'd added cream and two sugars - and discovered in the bottom of the bag his very favorite donut: cake with chocolate icing and multicolored sprinkles. "How did you know I like cake donuts with chocolate icing and colored sprinkles?"

"Jane isn't the only one who pays attention. Every time it's your turn to bring in donuts, you always buy the same dozen, and there's always one missing because you ate it before you got to the office. That's the missing donut."

Rigsby sighed appreciatively. "I have to say, I'm impressed. And frankly, very happy that you didn't buy me a bran muffin or something equally healthy and tasteless."

Van Pelt smirked. "Trust me, I thought about it, but I figured today would go much more smoothly if you didn't spend all morning complaining about breakfast. C'mon, let's head out and get this over with."

Rigsby tailed her out the door, and 20 minutes later, they pulled up to the storage facility. The two LVPD officers, Clarkson and Hudson, approached, made their introductions, and Van Pelt started getting everyone organized; she'd made four printouts of her spreadsheets of items that needed to be sent back to Sacramento, with columns to indicate which box each item was located in, and a column to check off each box as it was packed and loaded onto the moving truck. Once the movers arrived, she instructed them to load all the large items first; fortunately, all the furniture and artwork had been carefully padded and wrapped up when it was moved to Vegas, so that process went very smoothly.

By 11:30, she'd checked off all the major items, and poked her head in to the other storage unit to check in. Clarkson and Hudson were already in the back of the unit, packing up the final three boxes. Rigsby signaled to the movers that they could start loading. "Guys, start with these boxes up front; they're the heaviest and the least fragile. These last three have breakables and need to be handled very carefully." The movers nodded and started efficiently loading up the rest of the truck. Within a half-hour, the remaining boxes had been sealed, checked off and moved onto the truck; Van Pelt reviewed all the paperwork, and signed off on the documents, sending the moving crew on their way. Rigsby signaled to Officers Clarkson and Hudson that they were leaving, and shouted to have them call or email if they needed anything.

As they climbed into the SUV, Rigsby noted the time on the dashboard clock. "It's barely 12:30; there's no way that should have gotten done this fast."

"Vegas PD totally didn't need our help on this, and Lisbon knew it. She left us here on purpose."

"Yeah, I know. I don't quite understand why, but whatever. Do you want to give her a call now, let her know we're done?"

Van Pelt's response was immediate and decisive. "No! I mean, she doesn't need to know that we've wrapped this up yet. We can call her this afternoon. Honestly, we worked all morning, and I could use a nap."

"Sounds good."

They pulled up to the hotel drive a little while later, and Rigsby once again tossed the keys to the valet. Van Pelt wrapped her arm around his waist as they entered the lobby; Rigsby was confused for a second, until he remembered, _Oh right, still playing house. Charlie and Lucy Brown. _Suddenly he felt a sharp elbow in the ribs, and he realized Van Pelt was trying to redirect his attention to David the concierge, who was calling for him. He leaned over to kiss her on the neck, then whispered in her ear, "Why don't you head upstairs; I'll see what he wants and catch up with you in a few." He couldn't help but notice the way her eyes rolled back in her head just a little bit, what he hoped was a blissful reaction. He made a beeline for the concierge desk, hoping to get the conversation over with quickly.

"What can I do for you, David?"

The young man smiled and handed over a manila envelope addressed to Charlie and Lucy Brown. "A Mr. Patrick Jane left this for you yesterday; said he was a friend of yours?" Rigsby nodded in the affirmative. "Mr. Jane specifically instructed me not to give this to you until today. Said it was supposed to be a surprise for you and Mrs. Brown."

Rigsby popped a quizzical eyebrow. "David, do you happen to know what's in this envelope?"

"I do, but Mr. Jane left me strict instructions not to tell you. He said he thought you would enjoy it." David smiled brightly at completing his mission.

Rigsby tucked the envelope under his left arm and reached out to shake David's hand. "Thank you very much David, I'll let Mr. Jane know mission accomplished."

"Have a good afternoon, sir."


	6. A Pleasant Surprise

He arrived at the door to their suite, envelope still unopened, and was surprised to see Van Pelt already curled up on the loveseat, fast asleep, her feet tucked under the cushions. He reached for the throw blanket and gently tucked it in around her. Tossing the envelope on the coffee table, he kicked off his shoes, sunk into the couch, and fell asleep himself less than ten minutes later.

_3PM_

Van Pelt slowly emerged from her sleep-induced stupor, blinking repeatedly to adjust to the mid-afternoon sun that had started streaming in through the windows. She stretched out her legs and shrugged off the blanket – _blanket? Where did that come from?_ - as she sat up. A quick glance at her watch showed that it was a little after 3PM. _No sense delaying the inevitable_, she thought. _Can't call Lisbon without a decision about whether to stay._ She stood up and reached over to prod Rigsby awake. "Hey, sleepyhead, time to wake up," she whispered.

Rigsby rolled over onto his back and responded without opening his eyes. "What time is it?" he asked huskily as he threw an arm over his eyes to shield them from the sunlight.

"Little after three. We should really call Lisbon, let her know whether we're coming back tonight or not."

Rigsby shifted to his side, so he could have this conversation with her face-to-face while still lying down. "Have you given it any more thought?" She nodded slightly. "Before you make a decision, will you please hear me out?"

"Sure. Make your best argument."

"When was the last time you took any time off?"

Van Pelt was a little taken aback by this question. "Since joining the CBI? Never, unless you count the half-day Lisbon forced me to take after the whole debacle with Dan Hollenbeck. And that was more like a suspension than a vacation."

"My point exactly. You've earned this time off, Grace. You should take it. It's just a long weekend – what could it hurt?"

Van Pelt relaxed against the back of the couch, thinking for a minute. "You know what? You're right. We've earned a couple of days off. Since the suite's paid for, why not?"

"Really?" _That was almost too easy._

"Really. Like you said, it's only a weekend, we can't get into that much trouble over a weekend, can we? One condition, though."

"Name it."

"No gambling," she replied with a stern look on her face.

"Done. Vegas is way more than slots and showgirls, you know."

"I know." Her eyes fell on the unopened manila envelope sitting on the coffee table as she stood up to retrieve her cell phone. "What's in the envelope?"

"Oh. I completely forgot about that. Something Jane left us at the front desk. Supposed to be a surprise."

Van Pelt eyed the envelope suspiciously. _What could Jane have left for us?_ she wondered. "I'll give the boss a call, why don't you have a peek and see what Jane's got up his sleeve?" She walked over closer to the balcony, where her cell reception was better, and hit #2 on her speed dial. Lisbon picked up almost immediately. "Hey, boss. Yes, we're all wrapped up for the day. The movers are scheduled to arrive at the office tomorrow morning around ten. Yes, they've been strictly instructed to only deal with you. No, Vegas PD asked us to stick around through the weekend, just in case they need us to help interrogate the suspects. They're waiting on Ms. Cook's lawyers to get into town. Yeah, we'll be back Sunday afternoon like we originally planned. No, it'll be fine – we'll find things to do. No gambling, I promise. We'll let you know if anything comes up." She snapped her cell phone closed and turned to her partner, who was chuckling to himself quietly. "What's so funny?"

"You, lying so smoothly to Lisbon. Vegas PD doesn't need us to stay the weekend."

"Hey, she stretched the truth to get us to stay, I'm just getting a little payback. Besides, what she doesn't know won't hurt her, right?"

"Good point." He slit open the manila envelope in his lap and laughed even harder as the contents – a letter and what appeared to be two tickets – slid out. "Oh, this just gets better and better."

"Why, what's up? Van Pelt inquired as she leaned over the back of the couch, trying to read the letter over Rigsby's shoulder.

"It looks like our plans, for this evening at least, have already been made for us. Have a look at the letter." He handed it back to her over his shoulder, almost giving her a paper cut across the nose. She recognized Jane's handwriting instantly.

_Wayne and Grace - _

_I thought you two might need a little help entertaining_

_yourselves this evening, so I took the liberty of booking _

_dinner and a show for you. You have reservations at Fix at the _

_Bellagio at 5:45, and tickets to see "O" at 7:30. Dress _

_to impress, have a good time, and don't forget – don't do _

_anything I wouldn't do._

_-PJ_

Van Pelt shook her head and sighed exasperatedly. "He is unbelievable."

Rigsby frowned. He'd actually appreciated the fact that Jane had been able to get reservations and tickets on such short notice. Cirque du Soleil wouldn't have been his first choice, but why quibble when the tickets are free? "We don't have to go if you don't want to."

Van Pelt straightened up, saw the look of disappointment on Rigsby's face, and smiled. "You know what, it's not every day that a pair of Cirque du Soleil tickets fall into one's lap. Let's make an evening out of it. It'll be fun."

Rigsby stared at her as though she'd grown a second head. "Who are you, and what have you done with Grace Van Pelt?"

She crossed her arms defensively but laughed nonetheless. "We're on vacation, remember? I promise, I'm not always a stick in the mud." She glanced down at her watch. "It's 3:45. We should probably be ready to leave by 5:15?"

"That sounds about right."

"Okay, I'm going to pull together something to wear, then hop in the shower. Be ready promptly in 90 minutes." she said sternly.

Rigsby mock-saluted. "Yes ma'am, whatever you say." The two retreated to their respective bedrooms. Rigsby opened up the closet and retrieved the one suit he'd brought on this trip, packed specifically for this type of occasion. It was his favorite black Armani; Jane had talked him into buying it more than a year ago, insisting that every "well-groomed young man" had to have at least one high-quality suit. And he had to admit, he'd gotten many compliments on it. He selected his french blue dress shirt; blue, black, silver and white striped tie, and silver cufflinks. Frowning, he realized that his blue pocket square wasn't in the pocket of the jacket. He rummaged through the compartments of his suitcase until he found it, Clothing selected, he laid everything out carefully on the trunk at the foot of the bed, set his cell phone alarm for a half-hour, and laid down to go back to sleep.

_4:45_

Rigsby stepped out of the shower, wrapped a towel around his waist, and grabbed a second, smaller towel to run through his hair. Surveying himself in the foggy mirror, he decided that the five o'clock shadow he was currently sporting was definitely not an appropriate look for the evening, and set about shaving very carefully with his electric razor. Once satisfied, he toweled off the rest of his face and set about getting dressed. Twenty minutes later, he emerged from the bedroom, more or less ready to go. His cufflinks weren't secured; for some reason, he could never pull that off on his own. He grabbed the tickets off the coffee table and slipped them into the inside pocket of his jacket, when the other bedroom door opened and Van Pelt stepped out. It was all he could do to keep his jaw from hitting the floor. She emerged tentatively, as if uncertain that her choice in clothing would pass muster – she was wearing an emerald green v-neck sweater (cashmere, if he had to guess; it looked very soft and fuzzy) and a pleated black skirt with white and pink stripes. She'd left her hair down, and it fell in uncomplicated curls around her shoulders. Her silver sandals helped show off her amazing legs.

"Wow," was all he could think of to say.

She blushed a little and tugged at her sweater nervously. "Is this okay? I wasn't sure if this would be dressy enough for Vegas."

"Grace, you look amazing." He gestured briefly at the cuffs of his shirt. "Would you mind helping fix these? For some reason, I can never get my own cufflinks to work right."

She smiled and crossed the room. "Sure, no problem." She reached for his wrists and gently slid the cufflinks into place. Stepping back, she gave him a once-over, and hesitated momentarily. "Hang on a sec, your tie is a little crooked." She reached for the offending garment, slid it into place as well, then smoothed it down against his shirt. He was surprised at her lack of awkwardness; it was as if they did this every day. "Got the tickets?" He patted his jacket in response. She turned, plucked her evening bag off the coffee table and headed towards the door; he settled his hand on the small of her back as they walked down the hall to the elevators.


	7. Dinner and a Show

A/N: It occurred to me earlier this evening that in order to get the story to an appropriate stopping point (read: you guys not chasing after me with torches and pitchforks) I'm gonna have to get through chapter 10 before I head out of town. So you lucky folks are getting two chapters tonight, and two more tomorrow. Yay! Spoilers for _Russet Potatoes_ in this chapter, and a slight reference to _Kitchen Confidential_, if ya squint.

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Twenty minutes later, they were walking up the hill to the Bellagio's main entrance, arm-in-arm; Rigsby wasn't sure exactly when or how that had happened, but it felt right, so he let it go. He stole a glance at Van Pelt when he knew she wouldn't be paying attention, and tried hard not to chuckle at the look of awe on her face at their surroundings. It was easy to forget sometimes that despite all they'd seen and dealt with in nearly a year of working together, she was still a small-town girl at heart, and the opulent lifestyles of some of the people they dealt with on a daily basis were still a little foreign to her. It was one of the things he loved about her. They walked in the main door, and her gaze went right where he thought it would – directly upwards, gawking at the multicolored glass sculptures hanging from the ceiling of the main lobby.

"You like them?" he whispered in her ear.

"They're amazing."

"They're Dale Chihuly pieces. You familiar with him?" She nodded. "If you like those, there's more where they came from elsewhere in the hotel."

"I wish I'd brought my camera. How do you know about all this, anyway?"

"I stayed here a couple of years ago with some buddies from college for a bachelor party. The groom's dad had connections, got us a couple of suites for the weekend. We hardly set foot anywhere but the suites, the pool and the casino floor, but the Chihuly pieces are everywhere – they're hard to miss. I think he has a shop here, too."

As they wound their way through the casino floor towards the restaurant, Van Pelt wondered how anyone could vacation here without going completely broke. The sheer volume of slot machines alone could take days to go through; she started to feel a little sorry for anyone who got caught up in the excitement and glamour, it was almost too easy. Her reverie was interrupted by their arrival at the restaurant. Rigsby approached the maitre'd podium.

"Hello," he said genially, "we have reservations for two, The name is Charles Brown."

The maitre'd checked the reservation list, found their names, and smoothly reached behind her for a pair of menus and a copy of the wine list. "Sir, madame, right this way please." She gestured for them to follow; Rigsby gently guided Van Pelt in front of him as they were led to a secluded table for two near the back of the house. The maitre'd set the menus at each place setting and laid the wine list on the edge of the table. Rigsby waited for Van Pelt to settle herself before taking his seat. "Your menus this evening are prix fixe; first beverage is on the house, any additional will be billed on a separate check. Our servers are all well-versed on the wine list, should you like a recommendation. Your server is Emily, she'll be with you shortly."

"Thank you," they replied in unison. Rigsby gave the menu a quick once-over and set it back down at his place setting. Van Pelt studied the options a little while longer, and absentmindedly started chewing on her lower lip. She looked up and saw that he was relaxed in his chair, looking at her with a slight smirk. "You've decided already?"

"It's a narrow menu, makes it easy. I have to order the French Onion soup, I'm having the prime rib, and the Shake n' Cake."

"Why do you **have** to order the French Onion soup?"

"It's kind of a running joke in our family. My cousin's a chef, and he studied at Le Cordon Bleu in Paris; the first thing he mastered was French Onion soup, and he claims he can make it better than any restaurant. So, anytime we go somewhere that offers French Onion, we order it. Funny thing is, he runs the kitchen at an Italian place in Manhattan, so his place doesn't even offer it."

"Your cousin's a chef? Did he teach you any tricks?"

Rigsby smiled enigmatically. "I might have picked up one or two. Certainly impressed the girls I dated in college."

Van Pelt sighed. "I was going to order the Shake n' Cake too."

"Not the banana donuts?"

She shook her head. "Truthfully, I don't much care for bananas unless they're in muffins or bread."

Their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of their server, a perky young woman named Emily. "Welcome to Fix, my name is Emily and I will be your server this evening. Are you joining us before the 7:30 showing of _O_?" They both nodded. "Wonderful; it's an amazing show, I think you'll enjoy it. Can I answer any questions for you about the wine list or your menus? No? Okay, then let me take your drink orders."

Rigsby motioned for Van Pelt to order first, "I'd like a glass of the house Pinot Grigio, please."

"House pinot, very good. And for you, sir?" she inquired as she turned to RIgsby.

"Scotch and soda on the rocks, please, with a lime twist."

Emily made a note of the lime request. "I'll be back in a few moments with your drinks, and we'll bring over a carafe of water as well."

Rigsby noticed Van Pelt was staring at him a little incredulously. "What?"

"Scotch and soda? I'm not going to have to drag you back to the hotel later tonight, am I?"

Rigsby chuckled heartily. "Come on, we're on vacation. Plus, it's on the house. I promise not to get really plastered unless the show is completely incomprehensible."

"Oooookay," she replied skeptically.

Emily returned a minute later with a glass carafe of water, and their drinks, which she set down carefully at each place setting. She set her tray down on an adjoining table and retrieved an order pad from her apron. "Are you ready to order, or do you need a few more minutes?"

"We're ready," Rigsby replied. He motioned for Van Pelt to proceed.

"I'd like the Caesar salad, the roasted chicken and the shake n' cake, please." She handed the menu over.

"The roasted chicken is excellent. It comes with garlic mashed potatoes, which is one of our most popular side items. For you, sir?"

"French Onion soup, the prime rib, cooked medium and I'll have the shake n' cake as well."

"The shake n' cake is my personal favorite. Your first course will be ready in a few moments." She gathered up the menus and disappeared toward the kitchen.

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The next 20 minutes flew by as the two CBI agents relaxed and chatted amiably, observing the other couples and groups seated at their tables and playing amateur mentalists, a favorite game the team had devised on long boring stakeouts. They had determined that the couple seated to their immediate right were two married people having an illicit affair, and the family seated behind Rigsby was in town for a wedding that everyone disapproved of and no one actually wanted to attend. Emily returned with Van Pelt's salad and Rigsby's soup, interrupting their hypotheses about the gentleman seated at the table behind Van Pelt. Rigsby plucked one of the pieces of cheese toast off his plate and dipped it into the soup, trying very carefully not to get too many crumbs in the bowl. He bit into the now-soggy bread, and closed his eyes as he savored the warm bread in an expression of extreme satisfaction.

"I take it the soup is good, then?"

Rigsby smiled broadly. "If you ever meet my cousin Steven, you have to promise me that you will never, ever reveal that I said this, but it's actually better than his recipe."

"Steven sounds like quite a character."

"You don't know the half of it." Rigsby quipped enigmatically. They ate the rest of the first course in relative silence, enjoying the fine cuisine. _Jane sure picked the right restaurant_, Rigsby mused. _This is perfect._

A half-hour later, Emily had cleared their table of their first and main course plates, and returned with two tall milkshakes and dessert plates each overflowing with a chocolate brownie drowning in fudge and whipped cream. Van Pelt's eyes grew to the size of saucers when she realized how big the portion sizes were. "We probably could have gotten away with ordering just one dessert!"

"You're hearing your mom's voice in your head telling you to clean your plate because there are starving children in Africa, aren't you?" Rigsby queried. Seeing her blush, he knew he'd hit the mark, and laughed quietly. "Don't listen to her. This looks really good though - I bet you'll want to eat all of it anyway." Turns out, he'd underestimated her; she polished off her entire brownie and most of the shake before he'd even gotten halfway through his dessert. She leaned back into her chair and exhaled slowly as a look of genuine bliss washed over her face. Rigsby briefly wondered if that's what she would look like as she fell asleep in his arms, then quickly shook himself back to reality and banished that thought to the back of his mind. He had just finished his last bite of brownie when he saw Emily approach.

"How was everything?" she inquired as she begun clearing plates away.

"Excellent, thank you," Rigsby replied. Van Pelt merely nodded in agreement.

"Wonderful. Since your meals were part of the dinner and a show package, no need to settle the bill. Enjoy the show, and we hope to see you again soon." She smiled as she efficiently piled the plates on a tray and disappeared back to the kitchen. Rigsby turned back to Van Pelt to see if she was ready to head over to the theater, and saw that she was still in the middle of what he guessed was a chocolate-induced stupor.

"Grace? Earth to Grace, are you ready to go?"

"Give me one more minute to digest all that food, I'm stuffed."

Rigsby did as asked, then stood up from his chair and walked around to help Grace out of her seat. "All right, up you go. You gonna make it through the show? All that chocolate isn't going to put you to sleep, is it?"

She chuckled. "I'll be fine. Let's go." He followed her out of the restaurant and they headed to the theatre.

_Two hours later ...._

Rigsby and Van Pelt emerged from the theater, talking and laughing heartily.

"Well, that was ... interesting." Van Pelt commented as they made their way back to the main lobby of the hotel.

Rigsby turned and looked at her quizzically. "Did you not like the show?"

She laughed upon seeing the worried look on his face. "I enjoyed the show very much, actually. I'm just not entirely sure I understood it. Was there supposed to be a story of some kind? And that guy they pulled out of the audience at the beginning, he was a plant, right?"

Rigsby would have been more amused at her confusion, had he not had the exact same questions go through his head earlier in the evening. "If there was a plot, I couldn't figure it out, but I don't think it really matters that much, does it? It's all just a framework for the acrobatics and the diving and stuff."

Van Pelt nodded in agreement. "That's true." They had arrived at the main entrance to the hotel and she frowned as she noticed that the Bellagio's famous fountains display was winding down. "Oh, I was hoping we'd get to see the fountains."

"I'm sure there will be another show soon. I think they run every 15 minutes or so. It's a nice night, why don't we find someplace to sit down where we can see everything better?"

Van Pelt smiled shyly at the suggestion. "That sounds like a good plan. I think there are some benches on the other side of the lake." She took his hand and led the way down the hill back toward the street. It took them about five minutes to find an unoccupied spot along the street side of the lake; the landscaping behind them blocked out some of the traffic along the sidewalk and deadened the noise from the cars cruising the Strip. Van Pelt smoothed down her skirt as she sat down next to Rigsby. They sat in awkward silence for a few minutes; Van Pelt could tell that Rigsby wanted to talk about something - he was fidgeting something awful, loosening and re-tightening his tie - but she was going to give him time to sort through his thoughts.

Finally, he spoke. "Did you have a good time tonight?"

She smiled warmly. "I did. Dinner was amazing, and I liked the show, even if I didn't totally get it. Plus, now I can cross "seeing a Cirque du Soleil show" off my life's to-do list."

"Was that really on your to-do list?" Rigsby asked skeptically.

"No. But hey, since we've done it, might as well add it, right?"

"Right."

"What about you? Did you have a good time?"

Rigsby thought carefully before answering. "Yeah, I did. It was nice to do, you know, normal-people stuff. Go to dinner, see a show, not having to worry about our cover, or whether we're going to get interrupted by a call from work or whatever. Just like we're two regular people, not CBI agents, you know what I mean?"

Van Pelt looked down at her hands, resting in her lap, and fiddled with the ring set she'd been wearing the whole week as part of their cover. "Yeah, I know exactly what you mean. No one knows us here; it's kind of nice to have that freedom, even if it's only for a couple of days." She looked up and was surprised to see Rigsby fixated on her hands. He blushed when he realized he'd been caught and quickly looked away. Van Pelt smiled to herself. _He's cute when he's embarrassed,_ she thought. _The tips of his ears turn pink._ She scooted over a little closer and was about to reach for his hands when the first strains of Claude Debussy's "Clair de Lune" started playing over the sound system and her attention was diverted to the fountains. She was so enthralled by the synchronization of the lighting, the water and the music, it barely registered when she felt his arm snake cautiously around her waist. She relaxed into his side and settled in to watch the rest of the show.

For his part, Rigsby was amazed she'd allowed him to get that far, when what he'd really wanted to do was pull her into his lap and kiss her senseless. _Focus, Wayne,_ he admonished himself. _She wanted to see the fountains, so, watch the fountains. Plus, you promised her you wouldn't pressure her. Just sit back and enjoy the moment. _He felt her rest her hand on his knee, and wished this evening would never end.

**************************************************************************************************************************************************************

Ten minutes later, the show wound down and all the people who had gathered along the edge of the lake to watch began to scatter. Rigsby dared to look down at Van Pelt, her head still resting comfortably on his chest; he wondered briefly if she'd somehow fallen asleep. "Grace?" He whispered softly into her ear. She straightened up a little and turned to look up at him - the intensity she saw in his eyes nearly floored her. The last time she'd seen a look like that directed at her, he'd kissed her right in the middle of the bullpen. She hadn't been prepared for it then; this time, she wasn't taking any chances. "What do you want, Wayne?" she asked, pleadingly.

"Honestly?"

"Honestly."

"I want so badly to kiss you right now. But I won't do that if it's not okay with you."

She reached up, threaded her right hand through the hair at the nape of his neck, and drew his lips down to meet hers. The first time they'd kissed, she was so startled and uncertain, she wasn't sure what to do but let him take the lead. She wasn't going to allow that to happen a second time, as she reached up with her left hand, draped both arms around his neck, and leaned up to deepen the kiss. She felt Rigsby settle his hands on her waist just above her hips, not daring to move any farther. She finally had to back off when she ran out of breath; he leaned forward so their foreheads were touching and licked his lips, tasting a little bit of her lip gloss.

"Was that as good as our first kiss?" He was genuinely curious; even though he remembered what had happened while he'd been hypnotized, all his memories felt vague, as if they'd happened to someone else and he'd been watching from outside his own body.

"No." Seeing his disappointed reaction, she smiled knowingly. "It was better." Before he could even react to her explanation, she climbed into his lap and kissed him harder. She took her time, exploring his mouth with her tongue, running her hands under his collar, tracing the features on his face. She quickly realized that if things went too much further, they could possibly get arrested, and decided it was time to head back to the hotel. She carefully eased off his lap, straightened her skirt and fixed her hair, then reached out to take Rigsby's hands, finally rousing him out of the daze she'd put him in.

"Come on. Let's go home."


	8. Champagne and Chocolates

A/N: As promised, here is chapter eight. Little bit of angst inside the romance, little bit of romance inside the angst. Chapters 9 and 10 are coming tomorrow, then we'll press pause until after Labor Day. Thanks to all who have been reading and reviewing!

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Rigsby and Van Pelt made it back to the hotel in record time, not daring to talk, just walking purposefully hand-in-hand, afraid that any comment or further action might shatter the unspoken agreement they had arrived at. No sooner had they crossed the threshold into the suite than Rigsby drew her into his body for another breathtaking kiss. She managed to keep enough of her wits about her to maneuver them back into the living area, finally collapsing in a tangle of limbs on the couch. They sat for a good five minutes, kissing and exploring, before Van Pelt finally willed herself to draw back. She eased herself off the couch, stood up and turned to head toward her room. "I'm just going to go freshen up a little, be right back," she said as reassuringly as she could.

She slipped off her silver sandals - they were beautiful, and looked great on her, but damn, were they painful - and darted into her bathroom to splash water on her face. Staring at herself in the mirror, she took several deep breaths and tried to sort through the jumble of thoughts running through her head. _Is this what you really want, Grace? You know exactly where this is leading if you don't put on the brakes soon. He'll stop if you ask him to, and he won't question or get angry. You'll be friends just like you were before, but you'll break his heart._ She splashed another handful of cold water on her face. _I want him. I know he wants me. No one ever has to know. It can be our secret. One night, and everything can go back to the way it was. _

Deep down, she knew that was a lie, but she couldn't force herself to face the truth yet - that her feelings went beyond a deep-seated attraction, or even plain old lust. She had come to care for him deeply, more than anyone she knew in her new life in California. She trusted him implicitly; could she trust herself not to shatter his heart into a thousand pieces?

_Time to find out._

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The moment Van Pelt slipped off the couch and darted back to her room, Rigsby leaned back, scrubbing his hands over his face in frustration. _Dammit, Wayne, you couldn't keep your hands to yourself for five fucking minutes? You've probably completely freaked her out and you'll be lucky if she doesn't slap you when she comes back._ Eager to do anything that didn't involve mentally berating himself, he stood up and peeled off his suit jacket. He hung the jacket up carefully in the closet of his bedroom, and unlatched his cufflinks, setting them in their protective box. Walking back into the living area, he noticed something that had escaped their attention earlier - sitting on the dining table was an ice bucket, chilling a bottle of champagne, two flutes, what he guessed to be a box of chocolates, and yet another note. He strode over to the table and slit open the envelope.

_Wayne and Grace - _

_Hope you two enjoyed dinner and _

_the show. I have one last gift for you _

_that I think will help wrap up the evening _

_in style. I have it on good authority_

_that Grace has a bit of a sweet tooth, _

_so enjoy. After tonight, though, you're _

_on your own._

_- PJ_

He picked up the box of chocolates and recognized it as belonging to Ethel's Chocolates; he'd bought his mother a box of their candies the last time he'd been in town. The purple ribbon, if he remembered correctly, indicated that this box included the very popular Cocktail Collection. _Great_, he thought, J_ane's trying to get us drunk on champagne and candy. Well, might as well pour the champagne; worst comes to worst, we'll get drunk, pass out on the couch and wake up tomorrow pretending that none of this ever happened._ The thought made his chest tighten up uncomfortably. He plucked the two flutes off the table and tucked the chill bucket under one arm, heading back to the living area. He settled the flutes on the coffee table, and started carefully unwrapping the foil around the cork. As he eased the cork out of the bottle with a muted pop, he heard the door to Van Pelt's room open and she stepped into the doorway.

"Where did that come from?"

"Another gift from Patrick Jane, matchmaker extraordinaire," he replied bemusedly. He turned the bottle so he could see the label, and recognized it as Moet & Chandon White Star. "Hmm, pretty good stuff. I thought it might be nice to have a glass, toast a job well done?"

"Sounds good to me." She walked back over to the couch and was just about to settle in when she noticed the chocolate box. Snatching the box off the table, she asked, "Are these what I think they are?"

"Depends, what do you think they are?" he replied as he carefully started filling the champagne flutes.

She pried open the box and let out a cry of triumph. "They are! These are Ethel's Cocktail Collection! I love these!"

Rigsby turned so quickly he almost knocked over the bottle. "I thought you said you'd never been to Vegas before?"

Van Pelt smiled a little deviously. "I haven't. But Ethel's has a few stores in Chicago; at least, they used to, I'm not sure if they still do anymore. We used to stop and pick up a few pieces when we were in town visiting my cousins. They're my aunt's favorites. She bought me a box of these for my 21st birthday, since they couldn't sell them to me when I was underage."

Rigsby leaned backwards into the couch and handed over one flute. He tilted his flute in her direction and toasted her. "Cheers, to a case closed in record time."

She grinned in reply. "I'll drink to that." She tipped the flute back, downed the entire glass in one swallow, set it on the table and started carefully examining the chocolates. Rigsby stared at her in amazement - he had to admit, he was a little impressed that she could knock back the entire glass of champagne in one go. He smiled at the expression on her face, full of concentration and a little bit of wonder. He bet this is what she looked like as a little girl, opening presents on Christmas morning. "So, which ones are the best?"

"Well, they're all good. Fortunately, they're all marked, so I know exactly which ones are in the box. I'm just trying to decide which one to eat first."

"Save a few for me, will ya?"

"I might, if you're nice to me." She flashed him yet another devious grin. She plucked a small square with what looked like a Mint Julep on it. "Mint Julep. These are my favorites." She popped the candy in her mouth and Rigsby immediately recognized the expression on her face as the same reaction she'd had to the dessert they'd ordered at dinner.

_Jane was right, she does have a sweet tooth,_ he mused. As he watched her lick her lips and sigh in satisfaction, it took all of his self-control to keep from wrapping his arms around her waist, dragging her into his lap and tasting that candy firsthand. Instead, he reached into the box, plucked another square and bit off one end. "Hang on, these have actual alcohol in them?"

"Yup. Why do you think they won't sell them to people who are underage?"

"Nice." He swallowed the other half of the candy and scanned the box for another choice. "Hmm, this one looks good," selecting a margarita-flavored candy. Seeing his lips pucker, Van Pelt realized it was a lime-flavored margarita. She decided to try one of the Cosmopolitan candies, even though she didn't particularly care for Cosmos normally.

"These are really good," Rigsby commented around a mouthful of chocolate.

Van Pelt smiled. "They're definitely my favorites. I wonder how Jane knew I liked them, though?"

"The note he left with the box said he 'had it on good authority' that you had a sweet tooth – maybe you've mentioned it before, offhand?"

"Maybe." Her expression shifted, lost in thought.

Rigsby fidgeted uncomfortably on his end of the couch. Van Pelt recognized this again as his "I have to talk to you about something, but I really don't want to do it" fidget. She decided to continue eating her chocolate and let him work up his courage on his own. He reached for the champagne bottle, and instead of pouring the remainder in his glass, just outright chugged it.

"Liquid courage, Rigsby?"

He scrubbed his hands over his face and sighed. "Am I that obvious?"

She smiled. "A little bit. You get fidgety when there's something you want to talk about but you can't figure out how to bring it up. Like now."

He exhaled, leaning back into the couch, purposely creating a bit of distance between the two of them, in case she decided to haul off and slap him after all. "Um, it's about … earlier." She nodded, indicating that she understood what he was referring to, and that he should continue. "I didn't ….." he paused, choosing his words very carefully, "cross a line, or anything, did I?"

Van Pelt set her empty champagne glass down carefully on the table and scooted forward so they were sitting mere inches apart. She reached up to stroke his cheek, in an attempt to get him to look her in the eyes. "Wayne, please look at me." She saw a very rare mix of emotions in his eyes – uncertainty, a little bit of guilt, and something she hoped she'd never see from him – fear. Tears started to well up in her eyes when she realized that he was so afraid of screwing things up between them, upsetting the delicate balance they'd managed to strike ever since they had wrapped up the Hendricks case, but that he was tired of constantly having to fight back feelings that were already well out in the open. _Actions have always spoken louder than words, Grace,_ she thought to herself as she leaned in to kiss him gently. Gently quickly devolved into passionately as she climbed into Rigsby's lap, allowing him easier access to trace up and down the small of her back. Unbeknownst to him, however, she was very ticklish, and as he hit a particularly sensitive spot, she flinched.

"Ouch!" Rigsby yelled as he sucked in his lower lip.

Van Pelt backed away in horror. "Oh God, did I bite you?"

He nodded, testing to see if she'd drawn blood, and thankful when he realized she hadn't. "How did that happen?"

"Well, as I guess you've figured out by now, I'm really ticklish." Rigsby grinned wolfishly. Van Pelt gave him the evil eye, and he relented. "It's worse in, shall we say, intimate moments? You just happened to hit an especially good spot." She traced his lower lip with her thumb, just to check that she hadn't done any damage. Satisfied that she hadn't drawn blood, she leaned in to kiss him again, wrapping her legs around his waist and scraping her nails down his neck. He tentatively ran his hands up her legs, under her skirt and reached under her thighs to lift her off the couch. She locked her heels at the small of his back, and started leaving a trail of kisses from his collarbone up to his ear. What she said next, however, was almost his complete undoing.

"Take me to bed, Wayne."


	9. Fear

_Van Pelt was sitting inside the CBI's surveillance van with Jane, observing a hostage situation that had, it seemed to her, been going on for hours. Rigsby, Cho and Lisbon were stationed behind CBI vehicles roughly 50 yards outside the convenience store that was under siege; Lisbon and Cho directly facing the exit, Rigsby around the corner. Van Pelt and Jane were observing the action inside the convenience store, having patched into the internal surveillance cameras. The last hour had been very boring, with the occasional pacing and grumbling from the six hostages. One of the hostages in particular had been the most vocal and restless; Van Pelt had paid special attention to him for the past 20 minutes. Something about him didn't sit right. Suddenly, Jane spun around in his chair and drew her attention back to the screens. "Van Pelt, is one of the hostages fighting with the suspect?" She spun back around and noticed the suspect and one of the hostages wrangling with a shotgun that they hadn't known he had. She grabbed the nearby radio and contacted Lisbon. "Lisbon, be advised, suspect is armed, has a 12-gauge shotgun, repeat, suspect is armed and is currently in a confrontation with one of the hostages. This doesn't look right though, this hostage has been planning something for a while. I think he may be an accomp-- SHIT!"_

_Lisbon's voice was controlled but concerned. "Van Pelt, what is going on in there?"_

"_Boss, we've lost both of the internal cameras and no longer have a visual on the inside. They shot out both of the cameras. At least one of the hostages is definitely an accomplice, and you can assume they're both armed."_

"_Thanks, Van Pelt. Suspect is emerging from the store … HOLD YOUR FIRE!" Van Pelt heard the radio being dropped as, she assumed, her colleagues and the SWAT team swarmed the convenience store. Lisbon's voice came back on two minutes later. "Suspect is in custody, we have an officer down, repeat, officer down with a gunshot wound, send in paramedics immediately!" At the mention of "gunshot wound," Van Pelt threw her headphones down on the floor of the van and had bolted out the back before Jane could even register what happened. She was halfway down the block before he could even hope to catch up, by which time she'd been cut off by Lisbon, who was struggling to restrain the agitated agent. _

"_Agent Van Pelt, calm down! Grace, please, stop fighting me. I can't let you go to the crime scene."_

_Tears were streaming down Van Pelt's face as she finally capitulated. "I need to see him, make sure he's okay," she said as she slumped to the ground._

_Lisbon leaned down to look her youngest agent in the face. "Grace, I know you're worried, but I can't let you go down there. Cho is going to go with him to the hospital; I promise you, the wound is not life-threatening. He got hit in the shoulder, but he's going to be fine. As soon as we know where they're going to take him, I will let you know, and you can meet them there."_

_Van Pelt buried her face in her hands. "This is my fault, this is all my fault. If I'd been paying closer attention, we might have figured this out sooner …... this is all my fault …..."_

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Van Pelt bolted upright in bed, tears streaming down her face and sweat soaking the sheets. Hugging her knees to her chest, she repeated to herself, _just a dream, only a dream, Wayne is sleeping peacefully right next to you. _She turned to her right, just to confirm that he was, in fact, still there. She crept carefully out of the bed, so as not to wake him. Wrapping herself in his blue button-down shirt, she tiptoed out onto the suite's balcony. She needed some air.

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A/N: This is the shortest chapter to date, and for that, I do apoloigize, but I hope you guys see why I wasn't willing to leave you all hanging here.


	10. Loaded Conversations

Wayne Rigsby was floating in that ephemeral state between heavy sleep and full consciousness. He was enjoying what felt like a very realistic dream, Van Pelt's nails were scraping down his back, her bare legs clamped tightly around his waist. He could hear her high-pitched whine evolving into shallow gasps as he thrust inside her. He could feel her muscles start to seize up as she reached her peak …..

Rigsby rolled to his side, reaching across the bed to see if Van Pelt was really there, or if his R-rated fantasies were just a figment of his imagination. Feeling the other side of the bed to be empty, he sighed. _Too good to be true, Rigsby. You sure do have an active imagination, though._ He rolled onto his back, and assessed the situation. First thing he noticed was that he was naked, and he NEVER slept naked. Second, he realized that the sheets on the other half of the bed were not only rumpled, they were warm. Finally, her pillow was soaking wet. _Oh God, something's wrong_, he thought to himself. _She's obviously been crying. Where did she go?_ Just then, he felt a light breeze wafting in from the balcony, and realized the French doors were open. He reached for his track pants lying on the chair next to the bed, pulled them on, and rolled out of bed to step outside. As he approached the balcony, he saw Van Pelt curled up in a ball, sitting on one of the chaise lounges, wearing his blue dress shirt. She was breathing heavily, rocking back and forth with her arms wrapped around her knees; if he had to guess, he suspected that she was still crying. Comforting a crying woman had never been one of his strong suits, but if he ever hoped to build a relationship with Grace, he was going to have to give this a go. He stepped tentatively out onto the balcony.

"Grace?" She immediately started hastily wiping the tears off her face and tried to compose herself. "Mind if I join you?" She shifted forward on the chaise, and he settled himself behind her, wrapping his arms around her waist as she leaned backwards into his embrace. He allowed her to relax for a few minutes, steady her breathing and let her tears dry before breaking the silence.

"Grace," he whispered softly into her ear, "what's wrong? Please tell me I didn't do something wrong?"

Van Pelt carefully shifted position, turning around in the chair so they were facing each other. Seeing his distraught face, she cupped his cheeks in her hands and leaned forward to kiss him tenderly. "You didn't do anything wrong. It was just a bad dream, that's all." She leaned down to bury her head in the crook of his neck, so he couldn't see her fighting back more tears.

Rigsby stroked her long red hair in what he hoped was a comforting way. "Grace, that was way more than a bad dream. Bad dreams don't leave your pillow soaking wet. I know you've been crying, so please don't try to hide it from me. You know you can talk to me about anything, right?" He felt, rather than saw, her nod against his shoulder.

She slowly raised her head from his shoulder and wiped at her bloodshot eyes. "We were in a hostage situation. You, Lisbon and Cho were up front with the Sacramento PD SWAT team; Jane and I were in the van conducting surveillance. We totally missed the fact that the suspect had an accomplice on the inside until it was too late; they came out shooting and hit you in the shoulder. I was supposed to be watching, and it was all my fault. Lisbon wouldn't even let me see you, make sure you were okay." She wiped at new tears that were threatening to erupt from the corners of her eyes.

Rigsby gently gripped her shoulders, to make sure she was looking him in the eyes. "You know that I can't promise that will never happen to us. We both know better than that. What I **can** promise is that I will always do whatever I can to make sure that at the end of the day, everyone goes home in one piece." He saw her nod slowly and shift her gaze to the ground; he was beginning to suspect that there was more to this story than she was letting on.

"Grace?" he asked as he reached under her chin to lift her gaze back to his face. "We've never had to deal with a hostage situation before, but this dream seems a little more personal. Where did this all come from?"

Van Pelt leaned back, wiped the tears from her face and took in a deep breath before she decided to speak. "Before I came to the CBI, I worked for the state police back home in Iowa. I was assigned to a unit a lot like ours, based in Des Moines – we investigated crimes that the local PD's either didn't have the time, or the resources, to solve. Occasionally, though, we got pulled in to situations we weren't really trained for. One day, we were called in to help with a hostage situation almost exactly like the one in my dream. Everything happened just the way I dreamed it, right down to my partner getting shot." Rigsby suspected that he knew where this was leading, but he wanted to hear it directly from her, so he squeezed her hand, indicating that she should continue. "My partner and I were dating – we tried to be as discreet as possible, and no one in the precinct knew about us, until he got shot during the hostage situation. I basically freaked out and gave us both away. We were lucky that we didn't both get fired, but I was transferred to another unit the next day, and Brian – that was my partner – wouldn't let me visit him in the hospital and didn't speak to me for almost six months. That was when I decided it was time to leave home, make a fresh start. And I ended up at the CBI."

"That explains the insistence on obeying the 'no-fraternizing' rule, I guess."

"It's in place for a reason, you and I both know that."

Rigsby sighed. "Yes, I do know that. I know all the reasons for it. And the best reason I can think of to break it is that protecting you is part of my job, whether we're partners, lovers, or something else entirely. I'm going to ask you a question, and I need you to please answer me honestly. Do you regret what happened between us tonight?"

"Not for a second." Rigsby saw the resolution in her face and the sincerity in her eyes and knew that she was telling him the truth.

"Neither do I. So maybe we could table this conversation for a couple of days, okay? Just relax, worry about this later, and be on vacation. Will that work?" She nodded, and wrapped her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist as he stood up carefully from the chair. She quietly slid the French doors back into place after he stepped back into the bedroom, and leaned in to kiss him as he eased her back down onto the bed.

"Thank you for being so understanding," she said sleepily. Rigsby climbed back under the covers, turned onto his side and pulled an already-sleeping Grace into his arms. It would be at least another hour before he fell back to sleep.


	11. Fun in the Sun

A/N: Hi everybody! Did you miss me? I apologize for the long wait for an update - I got exactly zero work done on this chapter while on my vacation and as you can see, it's kinda long. I actually had to cut this chapter short in order to get an update in before the weekend! Lots of fluff ahead. Hope you enjoy.

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_Friday morning_

Van Pelt blinked back the sunlight that was currently threatening to blind her as she slowly regained full consciousness. _Hang on, my room doesn't have a window facing the bed_, she mused. Then she realized she had a very heavy arm wrapped around her waist and was clothed in only a blue dress shirt with French cuffs – Rigsby's shirt. Everything came back to her in a crashing wave – dinner, the show, kissing Rigsby by the lake at the Bellagio, the champagne and chocolates, asking Rigsby to take her to bed (_oh God, that was amazing_), falling asleep exhausted and sweaty, waking up terrified, their conversation on the balcony, and finally relaxing into a dreamless sleep knowing that Rigsby wasn't going to give up on them without a fight. She propped herself up on one elbow, looking around for the alarm clock that she knew had to be around somewhere. She located it on the bedside table behind Rigsby, and realized that it was already nine a.m. She slowly and carefully eased back into the pillows, and considered her next move. Shifting onto her side so she could face Rigsby, she realized he was still soundly asleep, and took the opportunity to study him for a moment. His normally impeccably mussed hair suffered from serious bedhead; she could see faint stubble pricking through the skin on his cheeks and jaw. She reached up to gently trace his features, afraid that her touch might wake him, but he was still dead to the world. She reluctantly slipped out of bed and headed back towards her room, knowing that if she didn't get up soon, she'd spend all morning in bed. _Plenty of time for that later, Grace. _

A half-hour later, she was showered and dressed, ready for a morning of sightseeing. Plucking her camera off her bed, she decided to head back to the Bellagio to check out the Chihuly sculptures that Rigsby had promised her were so amazing. First, though, she scribbled a note for him and left it carefully tucked under his hand.

As she stepped off the elevator into the main lobby of the hotel, she made a beeline for the concierge desk, hoping that David was on duty this morning. To her relief, he was, and he grinned broadly as she approached.

"Good morning, Mrs. Brown. Did you and Mr. Brown enjoy the show last night?"

"We had a wonderful evening, David, thank you. Can I trouble you to do me two small favors, please?"

His ears perked up at her conspiratorial tone. "Absolutely, ma'am. What can I do for you?"

"First things first. Mr. Brown is still asleep upstairs, but he's going to be a little upset when he wakes up and discovers that I went sightseeing this morning without him. A half-dozen donuts and a fresh pot of black coffee would do a lot to soften the blow. Do you think you could arrange that for me?" David nodded confidently. "Also, please make sure that at least one of the donuts is a cake donut with chocolate icing and multicolored sprinkles, they're his favorite." David made a note on his notepad. "Second, do you have any recommendations for a good pizza place, preferably within walking distance?"

"Most of the staffers frequent Battista's – it's located on Audrie Street, right behind the Flamingo. They don't require reservations at the pizzeria, but it can get a little crowded. What time are you and Mr. Brown planning on leaving for dinner? I'd be happy to call ahead for you."

"That's very lovely of you to offer, David, but we don't have any firm plans at the moment. Could you perhaps give me the number, and I'll call once we have it figured out?"

"Certainly, ma'am." He leaned down, scribbled a number on his notepad and ripped the sheet off. "There you are. Is there anything else I can help you with today?"

She leaned in and gave the adorable young man a quick peck on the cheek as a thank you. "No, David, you've done plenty this morning. Have a good day." She winked at him cheekily as she walked away.

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Rigsby reached over to the other side of the bed, and once again found it empty. Rolling onto his back, he sighed. _She should teach stealth to the cadets at the police academy._ A quick glance at the clock told him that it was already after ten. He estimated that he finally relaxed enough the night before to fall back to sleep around three; Grace must have decided to head out for the day and let him sleep in late. He rolled back onto his side, and his hand landed on a crinkled piece of paper. He unfolded it and realized it was a note from Grace

_Wayne-_

_I thought about trying to wake you, but you looked so peaceful sleeping, and after last night, I thought you earned a little extra shut-eye. I'm going to do a little sightseeing but I should be back around lunchtime. I thought maybe we could spend the afternoon at the pool? If you make other plans, just let me know. _

_Grace_

_P.S.: If I've timed this correctly, breakfast should be waiting for you. _

It was at that point that Rigsby realized he could smell a pot of hot coffee, coming from somewhere. He padded into the main room of the suite, and saw a tall carafe of coffee and a box sitting on the dining table. He grabbed a mug, and a jug of creamer from the fridge, pouring himself a cup of java. Sitting at the table, he pried the box open, to reveal a half-dozen cake donuts with chocolate icing and multicolored sprinkles. He smiled. _Breakfast of champions._

He dumped two sugar packets and some creamer into the coffee mug and enjoyed a leisurely breakfast, scarfing down four of the six donuts in short order. He tucked the box away in the mini-fridge, in case Grace wanted to snack on the remaining donuts later. Taking a quick look at his watch, he realized it was already close to eleven. He hopped in the shower, shaved and brushed his teeth, and pulled on a t-shirt and his swim trunks. It took some digging, but he finally located his flip-flops, sunscreen, beach towel and sunglasses. Grabbing the notepad from the beside table, he scribbled a note for Grace and headed downstairs to the pool.

Van Pelt stumbled back into the suite around 12:30, already regretting her choice of footwear and searching for the nearest place to collapse and take off her shoes. Even wearing her flattest sandals had done little to combat sore feet from all the walking she'd done along the strip. She propped her feet up on the coffee table and sunk into the couch to catch her breath. That was when she noticed that the suite was completely silent. She got up to peek into Rigsby's bedroom, and noticed the note he'd left her on the bedside table.

_Grace -_

_Went downstairs to the main pool. If you're not back by 1, I'm having lunch without you._

_-Wayne_

_Well then, guess I'd better get cracking,_ Grace thought and laughed a little to herself. If she had to guess, she'd put money on Wayne having already ordered lunch for the both of them. She dashed over to her room, tossed her jeans and t-shirt on the bed for wearing later, and pulled on her brown, halter-style tankini. Pulling her hair back into a ponytail, she hurriedly started slathering on copious amounts of sunscreen and dug through her duffel bag for her trusty Chicago Cubs ballcap. Flip-flops, coverup, towel and ballcap acquired, she darted for the elevators. There's no way she was missing lunch.

As she wandered through the enormous pool area, she instantly regretted not having grabbed her cell phone. It would have been much easier to find Rigsby by texting him. She realized quickly that she needn't have worried; although the pool wasn't deserted, it was still early in the spring and it wasn't very crowded either. Also, he'd managed to attract the attention of a petite blonde waitress, who was apparently taking his lunch order. In typical Rigsby fashion, he was completely oblivious to the young nubile girl fawning all over him, and was studying the lunch menu intently. _Time to play the jealous young newlywed_, she thought, grinning to herself. _This is gonna be fun._ She instantly started walking with a more determined stride, and as she approached his pool chair, she tossed her towel and hat on the chair next to him, simultaneously stripping her coverup over her head. The ruckus diverted his attention; the catcalls from several other men hanging out a few feet away focused it directly on her. His eyes grew to the size of saucers when he realized she was standing in front of him. Winking coyly, she plopped down into his lap and attempted to read the lunch menu in his lap upside down.

"Hi, honey, were you just about to order lunch?" Grace couldn't help but inwardly cheer in triumph as she noticed the waitress' face fall at the realization that her target was already spoken for.

He looked up, gave her swimsuit a once-over and grinned lecherously. "I was just about to order a roast beef sandwich; what would you like?"

Grace turned to the waitress and requested a turkey sandwich with fries and a Diet Coke. As she shuffled off to put in their orders, Grace and Wayne turned to face each other and both burst into laughter. Grace was laughing so hard she was shaking.

"Oh, that poor girl, you should have seen her face when I came over here and she realized you were taken, it was priceless."

Rigsby's expression shifted from amusement to total confusion. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh, honey, you mean to tell me you really weren't aware of the fact that she was flirting with you?"

"She was?" Rigsby's face creased in honest befuddlement. "I wasn't really paying much attention to her. I was trying to stall her to see if you'd make your way down here, cause I didn't want to order for you and get something you wouldn't eat."

"She was totally flirting with you; or trying to, at least. I can't blame her – you aren't wearing your ring, so you're fair game."

"I didn't want to lose it in the pool, so I left it upstairs."

Grace straightened up and walked over to her chair, smoothing out her towel, and tucking her flip-flops and coverup under the chair. She tugged her ponytail back through her ballcap and pulled on her sunglasses. Turning back to Rigsby, she handed over her bottle of sunscreen. "Wayne, can you do me a huge favor? Would you mind putting some sunscreen on my back? I can't really reach back there very well."

"My pleasure." Rigsby leaned over, wrapped one arm around her waist and dragged her onto his lap. He carefully tucked her ponytail over her left shoulder and leaned down to press a light kiss into the crook of her neck, eliciting a contented sigh. He squeezed a dollop of sunscreen onto his palms and started slowly massaging her back, carefully avoiding the ticklish spots he'd inadvertently uncovered the night before. Task complete, he leaned forward slightly, wrapping his arms around her middle and pulling her backward into a hug. She clapped her hands on his knees and pushed herself up off the chair. "Turn around," she ordered. He did as requested, and she sat down behind him, straddling the chair. He tensed slightly, anticipating the cool sensation of sunscreen being rubbed along his back, but he wasn't at all prepared for how good her hands would feel tracing up and down his spine. They were interrupted by the return of their waitress, who settled their sandwich plates, sodas and the check on the table in between their two chairs. They settled back to enjoy lunch, Rigsby occasionally reaching across to steal fries off Van Pelt's plate.

Two hours later, after Rigsby had floated around the hotel's lazy river twice, he decided it was time to rouse Van Pelt from her nap, and make sure she didn't end up sunburned. He jumped into the deep end of the pool, and swam down to the stairs in the shallow end. Climbing out of the pool, he stalked over to their chairs slowly, deliberately kicking up as much water as possible to attract her attention. It worked.

She wrapped herself under her towel to shield herself against the water dripping in long rivulets off his body and onto her chair. If she was being honest, she was also hiding under the towel to prevent herself from drooling over Rigsby's well-defined chest. She knew it was a little childish, but she couldn't help it. "Rigsby, what are doing? You're getting me all wet!"

He grinned. "That's kind of the idea. I wanted to make sure you weren't getting sunburned, and see if you wanted to, you know, actually swim? The water's perfect." To emphasize his point, he leaned over, tugging the towel off her head and gently prying her sunglasses off her face. He stared deep into her eyes and gave her yet another of his charm smiles, and she relented, reaching up to tug her hat off. Unfortunately for her, she was just distracted enough to allow him to wrap his arms around her waist, lift her up and toss her over his shoulder, fireman-style. She started to squirm and squeal, in the hopes that he'd set her back down on her own two feet, until she realized that the fuss she was putting up was giving her a headache and her screeching wasn't having an effect on him anyway. That, and she was getting a good view of his backside.

Rigsby stomped off in the general direction of the deep end of the pool. He was sort of flying by the seat of his pants, here, testing Van Pelt's tolerance for the more mischievous side of his personality. She gave up struggling against him fairly quickly; he'd originally intended to toss her into the deep end of the pool but decided to take pity on her and get closer to the middle instead. After stopping at the edge of the pool, he pitched forward slightly, to shift her weight off his shoulder and wrap her legs around his waist to keep her from crashing to the ground. As she blew a lock of hair out of her face, he put on his most impish grin. "Are you sure you want me to put you down now?"

"Yes, please!' she responded breathlessly and with more than a little exasperation.

He kissed her on the nose, reached behind his back to unlock her legs from around his waist, and gave her a light toss into the water as he called, "As you wish!"

The expression he saw on her face as she resurfaced, spluttering and flustered, made him think he might have committed a pretty serious tactical error. She glided smoothly over to the edge of the pool, propping herself up on her forearms. As she crooked her finger at him, beckoning him to lean down to hear whatever it was she wanted to say to him, his brain screamed not to comply, that he was leaning into a trap, but he couldn't help it. He bent down at the knees, leaning forward a little to see if she actually had something she wanted to tell him, and instantly regretted it as soon as he felt her hand grip his arm, taking advantage of the shift in his center of gravity, and tug him into the water. Once he resurfaced, he saw her very self-satisfied smirk and swam over to pin her up against the edge of the pool.

"I definitely deserved that."

She crossed her arms in front of her and put on her most disapproving face. "Yes, as a matter of fact, you did."

He leaned in to see if he could get away with stealing a kiss. "Forgive me, please?"

She dodged his lips at the very last second, ducking under one of his arms and expertly pushing off the wall, smoothly knifing through the water in a perfectly executed freestyle stroke over to the opposite side of the pool. Upon reaching the opposite wall, she flipped onto her back and backstroked back across. One flip turn later, she resurfaced right in front of his face.

"I'm impressed. Were you a swimmer in high school?"

She nodded. "Yeah. I worked as a lifeguard at the pool during the summers, and swimming got me out of cheerleading during basketball season."

Rigsby was incredulous. _Cheerleading? He'd never have guessed. _ "You were a cheerleader?"

"When you're the coach's daughter, there are certain expectations. It was either join the cheerleading squad, or work the sidelines for my dad shagging balls during games. Which do you think I would rather have done?"

"Honestly? I pegged you for a band geek." He was rewarded for his sarcasm with a crashing wave splashed in his face. "Kidding! Just kidding. Though there is nothing wrong with being a band geek. I dated a couple in my day."

"I have zero musical talent, unfortunately. I kept up with gymnastics and dance just long enough when I was little so that I had enough coordination to make the cheer squad. I didn't like cheering that much, though, so when I made the swim team my sophomore year, it was an easy way to get out of it."

"Were you any good?" He was fascinated by this tiny window into Grace's past. Despite being incredibly empathetic and encouraging her colleagues to allow their emotions to inform their jobs, she was, somewhat contradictorily, very private about her own life.

"I was good enough to swim on the relay teams, and we made the state meet my junior and senior years, but I wasn't good enough to get a scholarship out of it or anything. But that was okay, my grades took care of that."

"You never cease to amaze me, Grace."

Van Pelt gave him her most enigmatic smile. "I certainly hope so. I'm gonna swim a few laps, and then maybe we can call it an afternoon? It's got to be close to 4 already."

"Probably. Is there something in particular you wanted to do tonight?"

"Well, it is Friday, and we did close a case this week, so I think Case Closed Pizza is in order. I got a recommendation from our favorite concierge, and the place just so happens to be right down the street, so you can chug as many beers as you heart desires," she said with a smirk.

"Can I watch the Lakers game, too?" he asked, knowing full well that she was a Bulls fan.

"I don't know if this place has TVs, but if the game is on, I won't be offended if you're glued to that, and not to me." She floated over to him, placed a chaste kiss on his cheek, and started swimming her laps.

Rigsby hopped out of the pool, gathered up his stuff, and promptly headed upstairs to the suite for a cold shower.


	12. Friday Night Tradition

Half an hour later, Rigsby was out of the shower, wearing his very favorite pair of well-worn jeans, and debating what shirt to wear. Ordinarily, he wouldn't make quite such a big deal about getting dressed simply for going out for pizza, but a niggling voice in the back of his head said to make a little extra effort. He had a white button-down oxford and a black long-sleeved sweater laid out on the bed, and absolutely could not make up his mind. He was so distracted by his internal debate that he completely missed the fact that Van Pelt had returned from the pool and was standing in his doorway, towel wrapped around her, admiring his profile.

"The black." she said, so quietly that he wasn't entirely certain she'd actually spoken.

His head snapped up in surprise. "What?"

"You should wear the black sweater. You'd look good in either one, but I like the black sweater."

"How long have you been standing there?"

She smiled softly. "Long enough. I'm gonna take a quick shower, rinse off all this chlorine, but I'll be ready in about a half-hour. Does that work?"

He nodded. "Take your time. I'm in no hurry."

Promptly a half-hour later, she reappeared, wearing flared dark trouser-style jeans and a navy blue v-neck sweater, her red hair falling in a long ponytail down to her shoulders. Rigsby smiled as she walked over to the couch and leaned down to pull him out of his seat and get him out the door. Instead, he wrapped his hands around her wrists and tugged her down into his lap. Her squeals as she twisted around and fell into his lap, her back to his chest, were like music to his ears. He reached up tentatively and moved just enough of her sweater out of the way to place a light kiss on her shoulder, inhaling the strong scent of the peach lotion he knew she liked.

"Do we have to go out for Case Closed Pizza?"

She smiled serenely, tilting her head just slightly to her left, exposing a little bit more of her neck and hoping he'd get the subtle hint. "Do we have to? No. But it is tradition; I'm sure Lisbon, Jane and Cho are having pizza right now back at the office and rejoicing that A. I'm not there to order Hawaiian pizza; and B. you're not there to eat three slices before anyone else has had a chance to dig in."

She felt his kiss turn into a broad grin against her skin and his grip around her waist become a little tighter as he tried, mostly unsuccessfully, to keep from breaking into full-on laughter. "You know, I actually like Hawaiian pizza. I wouldn't order it every time, but it's nice every now and again. I can't tell Cho that, though, because he'd get all huffy and accuse me of siding with you."

"Of course he would." She righted herself and leaned off the couch, grabbing his hands behind her in the process and tugging him into a standing position. "Come on, the Lakers game tips off in an hour and a half; if we hurry, we can eat before the game starts."

Twenty minutes later, they arrived at the already-crowded pizzeria and put their names in for a table for two. Advised that the wait would be approximately 15 minutes, they headed to the bar, where Rigsby ordered a beer and Van Pelt a glass of the house Cabernet. Their table was ready a few minutes later, and they settled into a cozy booth towards the back of the restaurant. Van Pelt let Rigsby take the side of the booth that faced the bar, so that he could watch his beloved Lakers once the game tipped off. They spent the next five minutes haggling over what size pizza to order; Rigsby claimed he was "starving," so they agreed on a large. Negotiating the toppings was a much bigger problem.

"I am **not **eating a veggie pizza. Dumping vegetables all over your pizza takes all the fun out of it."

"But we ordered sausage the last time! Can we at least get pepperoni?" Van Pelt whined.

Their negotiation was interrupted by the arrival of their server. "Good evening," he said cheerily. "What can I get for you tonight?"

Rigsby spoke up first. "We'd like an order of breadsticks, please," he glanced at Van Pelt, who nodded her approval. "And a large pizza."

"And what toppings would you like on a your pizza?"

They answered simultaneously. "Sausage." "Pepperoni."

Their server chuckled and offered a compromise. "How does this sound – we'll do half pepperoni, half sausage?"

"Perfect." they replied in unison.

Van Pelt grinned. "Okay, we really should have suggested that ourselves."

"I know. But you're cute when you're argumentative."

Van Pelt regarded him very suspiciously, unsure of whether to take that as a compliment. In the end, she let it go. She settled into the corner of the booth and stretched her legs across to the opposite bench, resting her feet next to Rigsby. She watched him chug down the rest of his beer as they waited for the breadsticks. Their server arrived shortly with the appetizers and another beer. Rigsby carefully split up the eight breadsticks, four on each plate, and slid Van Pelt's half across the table. In between bites of breadstick, he started absentmindedly toying with the bows on her flats. The thought suddenly occurred to him that she hadn't mentioned what she had been out doing all morning. His curiosity got the better of him.

"You know, I never did get a chance to ask – what were you up to this morning while you were letting me sleep in like a lazy bum?"

She smiled brightly and reached for her purse. "Funny you should ask. I went over to the Bellagio to check out those Chihuly sculptures you told me about, and I took a bunch of pictures." Rigsby leaned over the table to try to look at her camera. "You know, that might work better if you just came around and sat next to me."

"I didn't want to make assumptions!"

She giggled at his attempt at chivalry and patted the bench next to her. "C'mon, it's fine." She flipped on the camera and scrolled through her pictures until she found the ones she'd taken that morning. "These are from the lobby of the Bellagio. These ones from the garden in the back of the hotel didn't come out quite right …. the lighting is really weird back there and I had a hard time getting the settings right on the flash." She frowned.

Rigsby rested his chin gently on her shoulder. "Hang on, are those the fountains? Where did you take those photos from? Those look like they were taken from the hotel."

"Close. I went window shopping at the shops, and a few of them face out onto the lake. The people at the Hermes store were nice enough to let me take some pictures from their balcony during the show. They're good, yeah?"

"I'm very impressed. You could sell some of these to the convention bureau, make some postcards out of them."

"I like this one that I took of the sculptures hanging from the lobby ceiling. I think I might get a print made for my apartment."

"I didn't know you liked photography."

She nodded. "I took some photography classes in high school, and again in college. I wanted to at least be familiar with cameras in case I decided to go into forensics, but I realized pretty quickly that I didn't much like taking pictures of dead bodies and crime scenes."

"They're really good."

She turned and gave him a light peck on the cheek. "Thank you. I don't really get much free time to take photos these days, so I don't show them to people very often."

Their server returned with two fresh plates and the pizza a minute later. "Can I get either of you another drink?"

Rigsby reached for the plates and started dishing up the pizza. "We're fine, thank you."

Van Pelt scooted over just a fraction and settled herself at Rigsby's side. Picking up her slice of pizza, she dug in and quickly realized that the pizza was very fresh – as in, burning the roof of her mouth fresh. "OW! Oh, man that's hot." She started blowing on the rest of her slice to cool it off, as Rigsby chuckled at her. A well-placed elbow to his side quelled that reaction instantaneously.

Rigsby was on his third slice of the sausage half before Van Pelt even got through her first. "This is really good pizza, where did you hear about this place?"

"David recommended it, actually. Said most of the hotel staffs really like it. We should leave him a very nice tip when we check out on Sunday."

"Yeah." She saw his face fall a little bit and he nervously reached for his napkin, wiping the grease off his hands. Grace instantly realized that she'd broken their unspoken agreement not to discuss having to go home, and resume their normal lives, until absolutely necessary. She reached up and gently turned his head so that he was facing her. "Hey, I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said anything."

"You don't have anything to be sorry for. I guess I'm just hoping that somehow we won't have to go back to Sacramento at all. This has been a good weekend."

"Yeah, it has. Did you want to stay here, watch the rest of the Lakers game? My feet are really killing me, so I was going to head back to the hotel, maybe take a bath and call it a night early."

"Let's settle our tab and I'll walk you back to the hotel. I can watch the rest of the game at ESPNZone over at New York New York."

"Wayne, you don't have to walk me back to the hotel. I'm perfectly capable of getting back by myself."

"I know I don't have to, but I'm going to do it anyway. Just give me five minutes, okay?" He waved over their server and asked for both the check and a box for the remaining pizza.

They walked back to the hotel in awkward silence. Rigsby stayed with her until they arrived at the elevators, where she turned to face him, wrapped her arms around his waist and placed a soft kiss on his lips. "Hand over the pizza, I may want some for a midnight snack." He complied without comment. "Go, watch the game, have some fun, I'll still be here when you get back." With that, she disappeared into the elevator.

Van Pelt collapsed onto the couch in the suite and tossed the pizza box on the coffee table. _Dammit Grace, everything was going really well. Why couldn't you have left well enough alone?!_ She was so frustrated with herself she almost started to cry. _Okay, bath. A bubble bath will be good._ She soaked in the jacuzzi-style tub for almost an hour, allowing the bubbles and jets to relax her aching muscles. Once she realized that she was becoming terribly pruny, she reluctantly stepped out of the tub and into a fluffy hotel-provided bathrobe. Feeling too lazy to head back to her room and get her pajamas, she tiptoed into Rigsby's room, and found a t-shirt and boxers sitting on top of his duffel bag. She tugged the t-shirt over her head and slipped into the boxers, reveling in the fact that they retained the slightest hint of his aftershave. She padded back into the living room and curled up on the couch to wait for him to return from the bar. She flipped on the TV, and scanned through several of the movie channels before she happened upon a movie that piqued her interest. Normally she didn't go for historical epics, but she liked several of the actors in this one. She settled in to watch for a little bit, and quickly found herself becoming sleepy. As she drifted off to sleep, she could have sworn that she saw an actor playing one of the Trojan soldiers (it was tough to keep them all straight, so she couldn't remember which one) who looked a little like Rigsby. Only with long hair. _No, that can't be right._ Nevertheless, she feel asleep and dreamed of herself as the goddess Aphrodite, searching for her beloved Adonis.

_Midnight_

Rigsby stumbled back into the suite just a little after midnight, his head spinning from one too many whiskey sours and in desperate need of a shower to rinse off the very stubborn cigar smoke smell he'd picked up from the bar. He felt much better after having showered off the bar stench, and tugged on a pair of track pants as he got ready for bed. He had assumed that his very noisy, semi-drunken stumbling into the suite would have woken Grace up, but once he got out of the shower, he realized she was still curled up on the couch, totally unconscious, and if he was understanding her correctly, mumbling in her sleep. Something about Greek gods? He picked her up very carefully off the couch and walked back to the bed. Tucking her under the covers on what he'd already mentally labeled "her side," he noticed that she was wearing his USC t-shirt.

_Shit. She wasn't supposed to find that. She is gonna go ballistic when she finds out where that came from. Ok, Wayne, just get in bed, sleep off the hangover you're likely to have tomorrow morning, and deal with that when it happens. _

_He was asleep the instant his head hit the pillow._

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_A/N: A virtual cookie to the first person who can tell me what movie Grace fell asleep watching!  
_


	13. Pillow Talk

A/N:First things first, in case you missed the note in the story summary, this chapter does, in fact include some smut. It's not really that explicit, but if it's not your thing, this is your official warning to head elsewhere and come back when the next chapter is posted. You won't be that lost, I promise.

Virtual cookies to everyone who correctly guessed that Grace fell asleep watching _Troy_. I love having such smart readers! We're reaching the home stretch here - two more chapters to go, I think.

Special thanks to **celticgina**, who reviewed the first part of this chapter and reassured me that it doesn't suck, at least not that badly. Enjoy!

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_Too early, Saturday morning_

Van Pelt blinked blearily, rolling over onto her back and stretching lazily as she woke up Saturday morning. She vaguely recalled falling asleep while watching a movie on HBO, and hearing Rigsby stumble into the suite late the night before. Since she didn't remember heading to bed on her own, she assumed that Rigsby put her to bed after showering last night. A quick check of the alarm clock showed that it was 6:30 in the morning. _Way too early to be awake_, Grace thought. She rolled back onto her side and snuggled closer to him, easing her leg up around his knee, lazily running her nails up and down his back and pressing gentle kisses and nibbles along his neck. She was amazed by how much heat he generated; sleeping next to him was like having her own personal space heater in her bed, or a really big, muscular electric blanket. His breathing was heavy and slightly labored; she could smell a faint blend of whiskey and sour mix on his breath. _Whiskey sours. Those were Brian's favorite, too. _She shuddered slightly at the realization that she might be walking down a road she'd tread once already. _Stop it, Grace. Wayne is NOT Brian. _She pushed those pesky worries to the back of her mind and decided to attempt to wake Wayne up, by hook or by crook.

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Rigsby slowly drifted into consciousness Saturday morning, thanks to Grace's nails tracing gentle, random circular patterns up and down his back. Her left leg was wrapped around his knee and she buried her face deeper into the crook of his shoulder as she felt him stir. He did a quick self-assessment after the previous evening's semi-drunken escapades. Mild headache? _Check._ Slight whiskey aftertaste? _Check._ Nausea? _Check._ Beautiful woman tangled up in his limbs torturously grinding herself against him?

_Hang on, that's not part of the checklist. _

Chancing a glance down, he saw Grace nuzzling his neck and realized that her hand was, slowly but surely, dipping further below the waistband of his track pants on every pass down his back. Her leg was creeping higher and higher, wrapping itself around his hip and pushing the boxers she was wearing further up, exposing her thighs. _Grace, you are KILLING me_, his brain screamed. It took a great deal of his self-control to keep him from saying that out loud. Instead, he raised her leg and wrapped it around his waist, reaching up into the leg opening of his boxers. His brain almost started oozing out his ears when his fingers hit bare skin, instead of her panties. He had been valiantly trying to quell his reactions to her backscratches, but she wasn't the only one who was ticklish, and he couldn't hold in a sharp hiss as she touched an extremely sensitive spot near his tailbone. He felt, rather than heard, her giggle. He reached around to remove her hand from his back and rolled over to pin her to the bed, hands above her head. He dipped his head to kiss his way up her neck, stopping just below her ear. "Grace, please don't tease. Don't start something you won't finish," he whispered desperately.

Grace pushed up, flipping him over and turning the tables, pinning him to the bed with her hips before reaching for the waistband of his track pants and tugging them off. In one swift motion, she yanked the t-shirt over her head, lifted up off his pelvis and shimmied out of the boxers. As she eased back down, grinding their hips together, she ran her hands through her hair, combing it out and letting it spill just over her breasts. She could feel his erection hardening thanks to her teasing, and she stared down at him, giving him her most flirtatious smile.

"Since when have I ever started something I didn't finish?" she whispered as she leaned forward, her curtain of red hair tumbling over her shoulders and tickling his face. She reached for his hands, threaded their fingers together and slowly sank down onto his cock, building up an agonizing rhythm as her hips rocked back and forth.

Rigsby had to fight very hard to stay focused and attentive in the moment, trying to take the opportunity to memorize every inch of Grace's body with his hands in the light of day, since who knew when or if the chance would ever happen again. He had to fight even harder to prevent a litany of obscenities from spilling out of his mouth at the feeling of her hips pressing into his pelvis, her breasts molding into his chest, her hands tightening in his, and her mouth blazing a trail across his collarbone, up his neck and jaw to leave kisses all over his face.

Unfortunately, as she moved in to nibble at his earlobe, one comment got past his internal security checkpoint as his eyes rolled back into his head.

"Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhhh, Grace, fuck me."

He was rewarded with a cross between a giggle and a moan. "That is the general idea, Wayne."

Rigsby reared up to a sitting position, unable to handle being at Grace's mercy any longer. He locked one arm firmly around the small of her back, tilting her hips down further, and cupped her head with his other hand, kissing her fiercely while increasing the pace of his thrusts.

Grace wasn't normally a screamer in bed, but the unexpected shift in position, which had Rigsby hitting her clit more sharply than before, left her reeling and breathless. She dug her nails deeply into his shoulder blades, breaking off his kiss to catch her breath and burying her face into his neck to muffle her screams. "Oh God, that's so good. More of that, please." she whispered, while clamping her legs tighter around his waist, trying to draw him in deeper.

Rigsby pressed their foreheads together, screwing his face up in a mixture of agony and ecstasy. "Grace, I don't know if I can hold out much longer."

Van Pelt dropped to her knees, stilling his movements and reached up to cup his face and force him to look directly into her eyes.

"Then don't."

It took barely a split second for him to process what she'd said; he then roughly flipped her over onto her back and doubled his pace, simultaneously kissing, licking and nipping every inch of skin he could reach without breaking stride. He could feel her nails digging tracks down his back as she frantically clawed at his neck, his shoulders, his lower back, all in an effort to anchor herself. In the end, she could do little more than wrap her legs and arms tightly around him and enjoy the ride. It didn't take much longer for her orgasm to build; all of her muscles convulsed in unison, leaving them both able only to turn themselves over to the instinctive movement of their bodies until they collapsed in a spent, sweaty heap on the bed.

_Two hours later_

Rigsby woke up more or less for good about two hours later, with a splitting headache and a slightly sore neck. The headache, he could explain away pretty easily; he had to surmise that the sore neck came from the fact that he'd apparently decided to use Van Pelt's stomach as a pillow, his head resting on her ribcage and his arms wrapped around her middle in a bear hug. He was able to lift his head just enough to realize that she was propped up on several pillows, a paperback book in one hand; her other hand had been stroking his head, running her fingers through his hair and occasionally rubbing his neck. She set her book down and smiled broadly at him as she realized that he was awake.

"Good morning."

"It's definitely morning, I'm not sure how good it is yet." he replied roughly. _God, my throat feels like it's made of sandpaper. And hang on, why am I waking up naked again?!_

Van Pelt reached over to the nightstand and retrieved a bottle of water and two painkillers. "You're probably going to need these, I'm guessing." She pressed the pills into his hand and unscrewed the cap off the bottle for him.

He nodded gratefully. "Thanks." After downing the entire bottle in almost one go, he started looking around for the track pants he'd been wearing the night before.

Van Pelt smiled and blushed just a touch. "They're at the foot of the bed, under the covers."

"So this morning wasn't a figment of my imagination?" he asked as he deftly reached under the blankets and tugged his pants back on.

"Good lord, I hope not. If we're dreaming up the exact same thing, I would be a little bit worried." Van Pelt replied with a sarcastic smile.

"Cute. So how come I'm the one who woke up naked? Again?"

Van Pelt flipped over to her side so she could look down into his eyes. "Because I, unlike you, do not sleep like I'm dead. I woke up about an hour ago and I had to pee, so I got dressed." She tugged the shirt away from her chest and looked down, to make sure she'd read the lettering correctly the night before when she put it on. "What are you doing with a USC t-shirt anyway? I thought you were a UCLA guy?" She saw a brief flinch cross his face and instantly realized she'd inadvertently touched a nerve.

_Ugh, she had to ask. Best defense is a good offense; she doesn't need to know the whole truth, right?_ "It's not mine, actually. I borrowed it from a friend and never had the chance to give it back."

Van Pelt saw his hesitation and quickly came to an irritating conclusion. "You got this from Jackie, didn't you?" she asked with a look of strong distaste on her face.

_Busted. AGAIN. _ "Yes. We were having dinner at her place, and she accidentally spilled red wine on my shirt. She insisted on keeping the shirt so she could send it to the dry cleaner's, so I wore that shirt home. I never got a chance to give it back." he explained sheepishly.

Van Pelt rolled over and flopped back into the pillows in frustration. "God, I should have guessed." She took in a deep breath before a look of abject horror passed across her face. "Oh my God, you slept with her, didn't you?" She covered her face with her hands to keep from hyperventilating.

Rigsby pulled himself up to a sitting position, tucking his knees under his chin, and sighed. "Grace, please look at me. If we're going to have this conversation, can we at least have it face-to-face?" She reluctantly complied.

"Yes, Jackie and I slept together. That was actually part of the reason we didn't last very long. She wanted a boy toy, and that wasn't something I wanted to be." Van Pelt snorted at the words "boy toy," but otherwise, her reaction was inscrutable. Rigsby took a chance – _that's all I seem to be doing this weekend, isn't it?_ - leaning forward to wrap his arms around Van Pelt's waist, and gently dragging her across the bed to sit in his lap. He reached under her chin so they could look each other in the face and saw tears threatening to leak out of the corners of her eyes. "Grace, please don't be angry with me."

She snorted in reply as she wiped at her eyes and forced out a wan smile. "I'm not angry at you, Wayne. I'm angry at myself. I've known for months how you feel about me … you're not exactly good at hiding it. Maybe … if I'd said yes sooner, Jackie and Dan are never an issue. I don't know ..." she trailed off and shrugged her shoulders.

"Grace, I put you in a really tough position, pretty often, and for that, I'm sorry. That's completely unfair to you. I don't blame you for putting me off. If I had been in your position, I probably would have slapped me a long time ago."

"I could never do that to you." She wrapped her legs around his waist and enveloped him in a bear hug, pressing gentle kisses along his shoulder. She felt him run his hands nervously up and down her back. "Wayne, is there something you want to ask me?"

"It's about Hollenbeck."

She looked at him quizzically but nodded for him to continue.

"You two didn't …."

"No." she cut him off before he could even complete his query. "We never even got close to that point."

Rigsby let out a deep breath he hadn't realized that he had been holding in and squeezed her tightly. "The thought of that scumbag getting to be with you like this makes me ill." _Might not have been a good idea to say that out loud, idiot! _

She leaned back to loosen his stranglehold on her, and to his immense relief, started to laugh. "Are you sure it's not the whiskey sours you drank making you sick?"

He was nonplussed at the fact that she'd been able to determine what he'd been drinking the night before. "Ugh, don't remind me. I only paid for the first two, but a group of guys in town for a bachelor party came in after I closed out my tab and bought a few rounds. I lost track of how many more I had after that."

She gently stroked his forehead and reached around with her other hand to rub some of the tension out of his neck. "Are you still feeling queasy?"

He nodded imperceptibly. "Little bit," he mumbled.

Van Pelt eased out of his lap and tugged him back down onto the pillows. "I'm gonna get dressed and head out for bagels. What kind should I get you?"

"Whole wheat, please. And maybe some grapefruit juice?" he asked hopefully.

Van Pelt couldn't help but smile at the inner ten-year-old that emerged from Rigsby's personality now that he wasn't feeling well. It was just a little bit adorable. She gave him a quick kiss on the cheek as he burrowed deeper under the blankets. "I'll see what I can do. Go back to sleep, I'll be back in about an hour."

''Kay." He settled down into the bed and cuddled her pillow; the smell of her peach lotion and bubble bath still lingered on the pillowcase and it instantly relaxed him. He was out like a light before she even walked out the door.


	14. Lazy Saturday

A/N: First off, an apology to all of you for the long wait between chapters. I've had to rethink this chapter twice already, and then Real Life decided to punch me in the gut last week, so just getting this done at all was a bit of a struggle. I'm still not sure how I feel about how it turned out. One chapter still left to go. Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing. - aml

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Van Pelt returned a little more than an hour later, soaking wet and feeling like a drowned rat. She'd gotten caught in an unexpected pop-up thunderstorm while walking back from Einstein's, and because her hands were full of sacks of food, she couldn't make a running break for the hotel like she wanted to. She dumped the bagels, cream cheese and bottles of juice on the dining table, making an enormous racket, and headed to her bathroom to dry off and change clothes. She heard Rigsby walking gingerly into the living room and peeked out to check on him, her hair wrapped up in a towel turban and her t-shirt clinging to her chest.

Rigsby almost choked on his bite of bagel as he saw her emerge from her room. "What happened to you?"

She unwrapped the towel and started carefully drying her hair. "You must have slept through the pop-up thunderstorm I got stuck in."

"Thunderstorm? We're in the middle of the desert. It never rains in the desert."

"Well, replace 'never' with 'rarely' and you've got it about right. It's still raining, too – I wanted to go out today but it looks like the weather isn't going to cooperate." She looked out the window wistfully.

"What were you planning for us to do?"

She hesitated. "Well …. I was hoping that we could go to Hoover Dam." Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him start to snicker and she tossed the towel at his head. "Don't laugh! My dad teaches history in addition to all of his coaching responsibilities … we always go visit a historical site whenever we travel somewhere new."

Rigsby smiled. "That's actually pretty cool. We didn't really do vacations in my family."

She sat down at the table across from him, plucking a bagel out of the bag and slathering it with cream cheese. "Maybe next time we're in town, we can go."

His smile faded. "Yeah, next time." After polishing off the last of his bagel, he scooted back from the table and headed back towards his room. "I'm gonna hop in the shower. Since you're already wet, you're welcome to join me," he teased with a lascivious grin on his face.

To his great surprise, she smiled and laughed heartily. "A tempting offer, but don't push it, Rigsby. Shoo." She waved him off and reached under the table to unpack her laptop. She fired up the computer and logged on to check them both in for their flight the next day – she knew Rigsby preferred to sit in the exit row, so they needed to get in the first boarding group if at all possible. Mission accomplished, she checked her personal email and the weather for Sacramento for the next day. Rigsby reappeared about 20 minutes later, freshly showered. He flopped onto the couch and reached for the remote. Noticing that she was working on her computer, he frowned. "Please tell me you aren't doing work. We're still on vacation, you know."

"Nope, no work, promise. I just wanted to check some email, and get us checked in for the flight tomorrow. If we didn't get a good boarding group, you won't get a seat in the exit row like you prefer."

"I didn't even think about that. Thank you."

She shut down the computer and tucked it back into her briefcase. "No problem. So, any ideas about what to do, since we're stuck indoors all day?"

"Well, your Cubbies are in San Francisco this weekend, let's see if the game is on TV." He flipped channels, finally settling on what appeared to be WGN. "Looks like the game just started," he said, as she climbed over the back of the couch and snuggled into his side.

"Who's pitching?" she asked.

"Um, looks like Barry Zito?" A sharp elbow to his ribcage followed. "Ow!"

"I meant for the Cubs!"

"It's still the top of the first, so I don't know who's pitching for the Cubs. They're talking about a lefty-lefty matchup, so maybe Ted Lilly?"

"That sounds about right, he pitched on Tuesday."

Rigsby tossed the remote back onto the coffee table and wrapped his arm around Van Pelt's waist. They watched the game in companionable silence, eventually shifting around so that they were both laying down on the couch, with Van Pelt spooned against Rigsby's chest. As the game stretched into the final inning, Van Pelt could feel Rigsby's breathing slow down and even out against her back, and she realized that he'd fallen asleep. She decided that it was as good a time as any to start packing up her stuff; she hated leaving it until the last minute. She carefully pried herself out of his arms and quietly set about her task, setting aside her pajamas and a change of clothes for the next day, then retrieving all of her things from their various hiding places throughout the suite and rearranging her suitcase so that everything fit. Once satisfied that she had everything she needed for the next day, she zipped up the suitcase and set it in the foyer, near the door. Seeing that Rigsby was still asleep, and feeling a little tired herself, she carefully eased back down onto the couch, tugged the blanket around them, and drifted off to sleep.

_6:00PM_

Rigsby faded slowly back into consciousness at the realization that one of his arms was falling asleep. His right arm was pinned in between his body and the couch; his left arm wrapped around Van Pelt's back. He was rather pleased at the notion that instead of crashing on one of the beds, where she could stretch out to her heart's content, she preferred to snuggle up on the couch with him. He gingerly extracted his arm from inside the couch, giving it a good shake to re-start the circulation, and was shocked to realize that it was already six o'clock. Less shocking was the fact that he was starving. He gently rubbed up and down Van Pelt's back, feeling her shift slightly. "Grace," he whispered, "are you hungry?"

"Kinda. Why, what time is it?"

"Dinner time."

She slowly raised her head and rested her chin on his chest. "Could you be a little more specific? For you, dinner time can be any time between noon and midnight."

"Very funny. For your information, it happens to be a little after six, so it is, in fact, dinner time no matter which way you slice it."

Van Pelt lifted up on her hands and leaned in to give him and apologetic kiss. "Okay, Mr. Empty Stomach, where should we go to eat? Keep in mind that I packed up all my stuff, so it has to be somewhere that we don't have to dress up for."

"How about we hit the buffet downstairs?" Seeing her skeptical reaction, he tried to appeal to her fun side. "C'mon, it's not a trip to Vegas without at least one meal at a buffet. Plus, there will be a huge salad bar and lots of healthy options, I promise."

"And we can go dressed as we are?"

"It's totally casual."

"Okay then, let's head downstairs before the wait gets too long."

It took them almost three hours to get through the line, sit down at a table, and nibble their way through almost everything the buffet had to offer. Grace had to admit, this was the perfect way to wind down a weekend in Vegas – gorging yourself on everything under the sun. They boxed up a piece of cherry pie and a slice of cheesecake to take back upstairs to the suite, where they both collapsed on the couch in a food coma.

Rigsby immediately dug into his slice of pie while Van Pelt looked on in a mixture of envy and disgust.

"You just polished off a cut of prime rib, an enormous baked potato with all the fixings, caesar salad and a huge helping of mac and cheese. How in the world can you still be hungry after all that?"

"I'm a growing boy, I need my food," he said, winking mischievously.

Van Pelt smiled despite herself. "Just don't eat my cheesecake, okay?"

Rigsby swallowed the last bite of pie carefully and sensually. "Mmmm. I make no promises about the cheesecake. Especially if it's half as good as this pie was," he said as he leaned back into the couch, tugging her down with him. She shifted around until she found a more comfortable position and snuggled into his embrace.

"So, tell me all about these educational Van Pelt family vacations you guys go on." Once again, he received a sharp elbow to the ribs. She flipped over onto her stomach to face him,

"It's not like that. We don't go out of our way to visit historical sites or anything like that. It's just this thing my dad started doing when I was little. He liked to be able to include anecdotes in his classes. We've visited a couple of national parks – Grand Canyon, Yosemite, Great Smokies. I could have spent a week in the Smithsonian alone when we visited DC. We visited Arlingtion National Cemetery, too. Oh, we do state capitals a lot too; I think I've been to maybe 20 of them?"

Rigsby could not hold in a hearty chuckle. "That would explain how you ended up in Sacramento, then."

"I guess I never thought of it that way, but yeah." She smiled as she rested her chin on his chest.

"So why haven't they come to visit you since you moved out to California?"

Her face fell.

"I'm sorry, I didn't mean to pry, it's just that it seems like you have a good relationship with your parents, but you've never mentioned them coming out to visit you, and you were only gone a couple of days over Christmas."

"They weren't really thrilled about the idea of their only daughter going into law enforcement. Dad especially. And it wasn't just about the inherent dangers of the job, either; he had concerns about me working in a male-dominated profession. It wasn't such a big deal when I was close by; Des Moines is only a couple of hours from home. But after the shooting …. it got uncomfortable. They wanted me to quit the State Police and go to law school. Not exactly my idea of fun."

Rigsby's hold on her tightened and she snuggled deeper into his arms. "Grace Van Pelt, attorney-at-law. I like it." He saw a smile briefly flash across her face. "So, you moved out here instead of going back to the grind of school, and the parents weren't happy about it?"

"Basically, yeah. They're busy, too, you know. Mom has a little store downtown, and Dad's got coaching and teaching and stuff. But yes, it would be nice to have them come out to visit and meet all of you." She paused, and he could see a flash of her internal debate cross her face before she decided to push forward. "What about your family? I don't think I've ever heard you talk about them."

"We aren't exactly close. My dad wasn't around much when I was a kid, so it was just me and my mom for a long time. She had to work a second job on the weekends sometimes just to keep up with the bills. The one fun thing we'd do every year is when she'd take a week off once school let out for the summer and drive me to Florida to visit my grandparents. I spent the summers out in Florida until I got old enough to get a job during the summers. Between that, training for soccer, and trying to keep my grades up, well, I didn't have time for much else."

"Soccer? Really? I would have pegged you as a football player. Wide receiver, maybe?"

"My growth spurt didn't hit early enough. I played soccer a lot with the neighborhood kids in Florida, and I was good enough to get a partial scholarship to UCLA. My political science advisor is actually the one who pushed me into arson investigation – I was minoring in chemistry and I did really well in my organic chem classes. I ended up working for LAFD during the summers and during winter semester, since that was the off-season. They didn't have an opening for me when I graduated, so I went through the academy in LA and walked a beat for a couple of years. When the job opened up in San Diego's arson squad, I jumped at it. My partner left after a year to join CBI, and he recruited me a year later. You pretty much know the rest."

She sat back up and tugged him upright as well. Climbing into his lap, he realized that tears were forming in her eyes. "Wayne, can I ask you a question?"

He reached up to cup her cheeks and prepared to wipe away any impending waterworks. "Anything."

She reached up to wrap her hands around his wrists, trapping his hands in place. "Why me?"

"What?"

"You've worked so hard to get where you are; why are you willing to risk all that for me?"

He stared at her in disbelief. "Because you're worth it, Grace. You're kind, and compassionate, one of the smartest women I've ever known, and you're so beautiful it hurts to look at you sometimes. You make me want to be better …. at everything." Now he was the one trying not to cry. "I know the rules, and I know that I don't think the Bureau has any business telling me who I can and can't be with. We're good together, Grace, you can't deny that. If we go home tomorrow and everything goes back to the way it was, at least I know I left all my cards on the table."

She allowed his words to sink in for several minutes, before climbing off the couch wordlessly and beckoning him to follow her back to the bedroom. She slithered onto the bed , and reached up to pull him down on top of her by his belt loops. They lay there for what felt like forever, kissing fiercely and groping every inch they could collectively reach, before Grace once again took the lead, stripping out of her t-shirt and bra, tugging off his shirt, raking her nails up and and down his back before his brain kicked in and he started clawing at her jeans. Their coupling that night veered wildly between impatient and demanding, wanting to make love as many times as possible before succumbing to sleep, and languid and sensual, wanting to draw out the experience as long as possible; to memorize every inch, every movement, every sound. In the end, slow and sensual won out, sending both agents into an exhausted, but fitful, sleep.


	15. Reality Intrudes

A/N - Well, here we are, folks - the end of this particular story. I hope that all of you who have been reading and reviewing have enjoyed following along as much as I have enjoyed writing this little tale. - aml

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Rigsby woke up several times over the course of the night, each time more relieved than the last to realize that Grace was still there, sleeping peacefully in his arms. He was sorely tempted to wake her in the same fashion she'd done to him the morning before, but he decided against it. If the previous evening's activities were the last time he'd get to see Grace naked, he wanted to go out on a high note. The alarm clock read 7:00, so he decided to head downstairs to the health club for quick run before they had to start getting ready to check out and head back to Sacramento. He tugged on a t-shirt and his running shoes, grabbing his iPod before planting a gentle kiss on Grace's temple and heading out the door.

He returned a little more than an hour later, balancing two tall cups of coffee and a bag of muffins from Starbucks in his hands. Setting the food down on the desk in the bedroom, he noticed that Grace was still out like a light, clutching her pillow tightly. He sat down carefully on the edge of the bed, stroking her arm. "Grace," he whispered, "c'mon, time to wake up." She rolled over onto her back and stretched, revealing the slightest hint of bare tummy, which he reached out to tickle gently, just to make sure she was awake. She reached for his hand, bringing it up to her mouth, licking the inside of his wrist. She tugged him down to meet her lips, kissing him thoroughly and reaching down to pull his t-shirt off.

"Grace," he mumbled as he reached around to grab her hands, "we have to get moving. It's already eight, and we need to be at the airport by ten."

"Do we have to?" she whined.

He picked her up off the bed and drew her in for a tight hug. 'Yes, we have to. Unless you want both of us to be looking for new jobs tomorrow." He kissed her quickly before setting her back down on her feet. "I got coffee and muffins for breakfast. I'm gonna jump in the shower, okay?"

"Okay." She grabbed her coffee and a blueberry muffin, and settled into one of the chairs on the patio to eat a quiet breakfast. Her brain was an absolute mess of jumbled emotions – relief to be done with the case and heading home; sadness at having to head home and return to their real lives; and worst of all, uncertainty about what to do next. She heard Rigsby rattling around in the bedroom, getting dressed and packing up his stuff, so she decided to hit the shower herself.

Rigsby showered and dressed quickly, wanting to leave plenty of time to pack up his stuff while Grace was getting ready. He noticed that she was sitting out on the patio, her expression a million miles away. He decided to let her be, especially since she was already packed and needed only to shower and get dressed herself. He continued to pack in silence after she emerged from the bathroom, dressed, and tossed her remaining clothes in her carry-on bag. They were ready to go by 9:30, and walked out the door of the suite, leaving Lucy and Charlie behind, transforming permanently back into Wayne and Grace.

They arrived at the airport with plenty of time to kill and settled into chairs in the gate area. Van Pelt retrieved her book from her purse and started to read; Rigsby attempted to shift into a reasonably comfortable position and get in a quick nap. Forty-five minutes later, they were on the plane, having corralled spots in one of the exit rows, as planned. Van Pelt let Rigsby have the window seat; it was a short flight and he liked to nap. They were on the ground ninety minutes later; Rigsby had slept through the entire flight and landing.

"Rigsby,' she whispered as she prodded him on the shoulder, "time to wake up. We're back in Sacramento."

"Already?" he asked groggily.

"Yes, already," she replied as she reached up into the overhead bins for their carry-ons. She handed over his duffel bag and reached down to tug him out of his seat. "C'mon sleepyhead, time to go home."

They arrived at Baggage Claim just as the suitcases from their flight started spitting out onto the carousel. Rigsby grabbed both of their suitcase, plucking them off the belt with ease. It was at that point that Grace remembered. "Shit," she mumbled under her breath.

"What's up?"

"I don't have my car here – Lisbon gave me a ride last Sunday. Would you mind dropping me off back at my place?" she asked uncertainly.

"Of course not, it's no problem." They piled the luggage into Rigsby's Jeep and pulled out of the lot a few minutes later. The drive to Grace's apartment was filled with a tense silence. He pulled up to the visitor's parking spots in front of the building, and before Van Pelt could make a move to get out of the car, Rigsby turned and tugged at her arm to get her attention.

"Grace ….. what are we going to do now? I know I said the other night that we could table this discussion, and talk about it later, but it's later, and I don't have any clue where we go from here."

Van Pelt stared at her hands in her lap for several minutes before daring to look at Rigsby. The look on his face nearly broke her – a mixture of desire, confusion, nervousness and fear. But she had to give him the truth. "I don't know either, Wayne. I wish I did. This weekend was amazing, but what if it was just because we didn't really have to be ourselves? What if we can't make it work now that we're back to our real lives? I just ….. need a little time to get my head together. Can you give me that?" To her immense relief, he smiled.

"Of course I can do that. I'm not going anywhere, Grace. When we're both ready, we can figure this out." They both hopped out of the car to unload her luggage. Rigsby was very surprised when she leaned up and gave him a quick peck on the cheek.

"Thank you, Wayne. For …. being you."

"You're welcome," he whispered, as he watched her walk up the sidewalk and disappear through the main door of her building.

_Monday morning, 8:30 A.M._

Rigsby arrived at the office unusually early for a Monday morning. He hadn't slept well the night before, trying to get used to being in his own bed, alone, and he just wanted to get settled, check all the emails he'd missed from last week, and pray that they got a new case soon. He could use the distraction. He did not anticipate being called into Lisbon's office barely ten minutes after he'd sat down.

"What can I do for you, boss?"

"Have a seat, Wayne," she instructed, pointing to the chair in front of her desk. He sat down gingerly, uncertain as to what was to come. "Do you know agent Dave Allen, who heads up the Arson and Bomb Squad unit?"

He was genuinely flabbergasted by this question, completely unsure of why she would be asking. "As a matter of fact, yes; Dave and I were partners for a year in San Diego. He's the one who recruited me here."

"Then you know that his wife was expecting a baby?" He nodded in response. "Well, she gave birth to a little boy over the weekend, and therefore, Agent Allen is on paternity leave all this week. With two agents still on desk duty after the explosion at the warehouse last week, they're very short staffed. Long story short, they pulled some favors with Minelli, and I am being forced to temporarily re-assign you downstairs. You're basically going to be running the team while Allen is out. Do you think you can handle that?"

Rigsby was totally dumbfounded; this was not what he was expecting at all. "Um, of course, boss, but out of curiosity, why me? "

She leaned back into her desk chair and appraised his reaction for a minute. "Given that the two of you have a professional history, I suspect that Allen asked for you specifically. I've had inquiries before about making such a transfer permanent, if you were interested, but every time we've done your performance reviews, you've indicated a preference to stay here, so I haven't mentioned it before. Just know that it's out there, should ..." she paused here for effect "... _circumstances_ change."

He let that comment sink in for a moment before standing up to leave. "Thanks, boss."

"IT already has a computer set up for you downstairs. Now scram. And make sure you make me look good."

Rigsby smiled as he turned to walk out the door. "I'll do my best, boss."

Van Pelt settled at her desk at promptly 9A.M.; she'd gone straight to the kitchen to fix a cup of coffee when she'd arrived at the building, and completely missed Rigsby gathering his stuff and heading downstairs. Lisbon emerged from her office and saw Van Pelt's face fall, then shift to worry. She sat down on the table next to Van Pelt's desk and addressed her team.

"Folks, you may have noticed Rigsby is missing. We're going to be without him all this week, as I had to temporarily re-assign him to fill in with the Arson and Bomb Squad unit. He'll be back with us next Monday, I promise. Van Pelt, do you think you can finish up the paperwork on the Vegas case by lunchtime?"

"Sure, boss, not a problem, " she replied, hoping that her relief that Rigsby's move wasn't permanent didn't seep through into her voice.

"Good. Cho and I have a trial prep meeting at the Attorney General's office this afternoon, so I have a special project for you. You're aware that the Bureau recently established a Cyber Crimes Unit, correct?" Van Pelt nodded. "All the new hires for that unit are starting their database training today, and none of them have experience with the state and federal databases we use; almost all of them were poached from either local agencies, or private consulting firms. I was asked if I could spare you to help with their training this afternoon, as you know those systems better than almost anyone else in the Bureau. Can you handle that?"

Van Pelt blushed a little, proud that her computer skills had gotten her noticed. "Sure thing, boss. What time will they need me?"

"Afternoon training starts at 1PM in Conference Room five. Okay, back to work everybody."

Jane followed Lisbon back to her office and shut the door as he flopped into one of her guest chairs. "You separated them on purpose, didn't you?"

"I truly didn't have a choice about sending Rigsby downstairs. Arson specifically asked for him, and Minelli forced my hand. Sending Grace to Cyber Crimes was my idea, however. I couldn't leave her alone with you for the afternoon; that would be cruel and unusual punishment."

Jane smiled. "This is true. So, do you think my cunning little plan worked?"

Lisbon sighed and buried her face in her hands. "I honestly don't know, Jane. And to tell you the truth, I'm not sure I want to know. Personally, I don't think it's any of my business or the Bureau's business who they date, but I don't get to make that call. Just between you and me, as long as they can keep a lid on it well enough that I can plausibly look the other way, I will. However, if things get serious, one of them will have to make a move, and I want them both to be aware that they have options; options that don't necessarily involve one or the both of them leaving the Bureau entirely. We need more agents like those two, not fewer, and it's part of my job as their supervisor to guide their professional development. I particularly want Van Pelt to understand that she shouldn't have to choose between the agency and having a family; I know that both of those things are important to her."

"You really do care about those two, don't you?"

"It's my job to care about my team, Jane. I'm the center, and the center must hold, always. I am always trying to do what's best for everyone. Even you. I need to prep for this meeting this afternoon, so scoot. Go nap on the couch."

Jane knew a dismissal when he heard one, and mock-saluted as he walked out the door.

_Monday evening, 7:00P.M._

Van Pelt pulled up in front of Rigsby's duplex, not entirely sure what she was doing, or what she might say when she walked up to his door. All she knew was that the last 36 hours had been equal parts awkward, uncomfortable and excruciating. She was so wrapped up in her thoughts as she approached his front door, that she didn't realize his car wasn't in the drive, and didn't hear him park on the street. She started pacing, wringing her hands in front of her, until his voice cut through the mental clutter.

"Grace? Were you just gonna pace in front of my door all night, or were you gonna knock at some point?"

Van Pelt jumped a good six inches at the surprise. "God, Wayne, you scared the hell out of me. I guess I didn't realize that you weren't home yet." she said, sheepishly.

"I called upstairs to your desk before I left the office, to see if you maybe wanted to get a drink, or some dinner, but you didn't answer, so I assumed you'd already left and I headed home. I didn't anticipate you showing up here."

She reached out to smooth down his tie. "It was weird, not having you in the office today. I missed you."

"Really?"

"Really." He allowed her to continue fiddling with his tie while she worked out whatever it was she wanted to say. "Wayne, I …. oh God, spit this OUT, Grace …. I didn't just miss you today at work. I missed waking up in bed with you this morning. I missed knowing that you would be there when I came home today. Lucy and Charlie may have been a front, but those feelings we dug up these past few days … those were real. And I miss them. I guess what I'm saying is ….. I want to give us a try. I think we can make this work." She looked up at him with a hopeful expression, and was stunned to see the intense love in his eyes. He reached down, wrapped his arms around her waist, and pulled her into his arms for a breathtaking kiss, simultaneously unlocking his front door and dragging her inside.

"That's what I want too, Grace," he murmured as the door shut behind them with a soft click.


End file.
